In Darkness Dwells
by DanikaKVRelth
Summary: A Batman ff focusing on Dr. Jonathan Crane OC. Rated M for strong contents: mature language & content considered adult. Please enjoy! c: - 7.15.2013 DISCONTINUED
1. The Prologue

Darkness flooded the surrounding areas with miscellaneous strews of filth and paper waste that peppered the air. The city was dirty, at least the down town area, where most of the poor and downtrodden gathered together like penguins from the abandoning cold of the hellish metropolis. As sickening green steam rose from the open manholes and ascended into the rouge-hazed night sky, footsteps echoed down the long and narrow ramshackle streets. They were extended from rather nice shoes, too nice for this part of town, and those extended from the legs of a rather nice suit, again much too exquisite for the ghetto where they were transfixed. The man carried himself with confidence, but his shoulders were pulled inward with paranoia and certain unease. Every now and then he would steal a glance over his right shoulder as if to get a feeling of certainty that he wasn't being followed by a street urchin with an expensive desire for Armani. With every contact with the molding walkway he clutched his case closer into his chest, although if anyone came close enough to harm him he always had an ace up his sleeve, but that didn't relieve any of the anxiety.

With that thought passing through his mind, a nearby trash bin crashed over to reveal an emaciated hound. Of course with the tall cornerstone buildings that had fallen into disrepair the reflection upon all of the broken shards was enough to send him over the edge. He jumped and searched frantically for anything in the ways of an exit, he had been walking around in the darkness for an hour now. The ghetto roads were a maze of defecation and sullen faces, which acted as a moat for his destination. Sighing heavily he fell towards a nearby wall, the one that had the most hope for the least amount of disgust, to try and get his bearings. There were no street signs, there hadn't been one since the outskirts of the under dwelling. He wondered why he didn't just drive to his appointment, but with a survey of the scene he remembered that driving a car through these avenues was a plead for demise. If the inhabitants were merciful they might up and kill him in the first few minutes. Leaning his head back, he let his eyes close for a moment. The rest was definitely needed. His tall and lanky frame attracted the most unwanted of attention from the citizens of the shantytown, not to mention he was wearing accommodations similar to a traffic signal in the ways of expense.

Closing his eyes he tried to forget everything soiled around him and focus on the task at hand. He was in need of an excessive amount of a chemical compound that he couldn't possibly manufacture himself, given the time frame he was working with. Four days was the limit in which this whole operation had to be taken care of. After that it would be improper, and there would be a greater chance of an intervening by the batman that everyone had been talking about as he walked along the docks a few days prior. He remembered trolling along the waterfront, past all of the open containers ready to be packed and shipped to far away destinations, and poking around for a few extra hands when the sound of contortioning metal rang out. So loud was it that every dockhand turned on their heel and flew the other direction, as rats do from imminent danger. Caught in the sea of moving men who were a great deal larger than he, nothing could be done to prevent being cast along with the crowd. Caught as a twig in the river, bouncing along and being prodded and jutted in the ribs and back. The light faded as he got sucked down under the arms of the dockhands and he was ripped around violently. Disoriented he tried to resurface and get free of the grips of massive brutes, but instead they just dropped him and left him to rub the back of his head as he lie on the corked wooden boards. But as he did so he noticed a shadow engulf his own on the grainy wood and he jerked his head up, only to see a gigantic black cape block his view of the setting sun.

"FOUND YOU AT LAST!" a coarse voice spoke, and with that everything was blank.

Gasping short of breath, he opened his eyes to find himself still in the same grimy little street that he had been in before he decided to rest. Everything was the same as it had been. The green steam still shot up from the sewers and permeated the air with the same foul stench. Realizing that the scent wasn't salt water he brought his hand to his mouth and took in a deep breath, it didn't relieve the smell that much but it would have to do for now. He rose to his feet and brushed off what filth he could see from his suit and a bit from the topside of his shoes, after all he did have a business appointment. Grabbing his briefcase he followed the green steam up with his gaze and smiled a satisfied grin when he saw the towering form of his destination. It was as a tree in the desert, unrealistic, tall, and complete with its own gravitational pull to those of fine dressings. It was only a few strides away, close enough to be a tangible being if not an inanimate high rise. He quickened his pace and his footsteps blended into one large echo devoid of breaks. All he wanted to do now was get inside the doors and be free of the rotting life of the ghettos. Get through the doors and everything would be fine, in fact his suit may even look shabby to the man inside but that was of no concern at the moment. His pace quickened as the doors came into a clear view, out of the orange haze that had collected in the wasted streets. Just a few more steps and everything would be a relief. Just touch the handle and freedom is a reality.

The feeling of the cool steel handle was like a warm embrace. Safety was assumed as he opened one of the great heavy doors. At first it was difficult, as his footing was doubtful, but when the doorman saw that he was having trouble, AND was obviously not a citizen of the neighborhood he came and relieved the doctor of his burden. "Thank you," he said to the doorman as he brushed dust off his shoulder. Obviously there was an easier way in that he wasn't informed of because the doorman had been behind his desk for, what looked like, centuries. The little man hopped crookedly back to his little chair behind the overly large desk with RYAN in large deco lettering, and Corporation in a slightly smaller range. That, itself, was screened under an overly large cubist painting of the man in charge. Observing the distasted look on the doctor's face the little man chuckled. "Ya, that's the big man, don't worry though, they did him a kind favour in this picture. I don't think there has ever been an attractive fellow running Ryan."

Understanding what the doorman meant immediately the doctor smiled politely, "Where do you suppose I might find this man?" The little man behind the desk stared out from behind his horn-rimmed glasses. His beady eyes had a shocked look to them and a slight drip had formed on his brow. Obviously uncomfortable he replied, "Top floor," and then hunched back over his reading. The Complete Collection of Sherlock Holmes. The doctor smiled and boarded the fashionable elevator, happy to know that there was at least one book in this part of Gotham. He stood in the back of the lift looking out into the posh lobby with the atrium that rose to the thirtieth floor and beyond that through the front doors and into the wasteland of desperation. The emaciated dog from before limped by and seemed to pass through the door like a ghost and limp towards him. Luckily the doors had closed and the lift was on its way up.

The elevator climbed along for what seemed like ages until it finally rang out, as if in victory, that he had reached the top floor. The seventy-third floor to be exact, not including the roof. The gilded doors opened to each side, causing the doctor's reflection to split apart in two, extracting a Jekyll and Hyde thought from his mind. He laughed to himself as he stepped off into the foyer of a rather large port room. Looking about there were three other elevators in addition to the one he had just exited. Two of the doors looked identical to the pair that enclosed his, and the other with a bit less shine to it. Upon closer inspection there was a keyhole next to the lift button, which made sense as to be the service elevator. That meant the inside wasn't nearly as decorative as the other three, but it still beats the stairs. After all who has time for seventy-three flights of stairs? Considering that thought for a moment the doctor looked from the left to the right of the port room. To the left there was a small door that was meant to be for service and to the right there was an overly large set of French doors that led into what was assumed to be the boss' lair. His destination, and his appointment. He extended his hand and grasped the knob running his long fingers over it and turning counter clockwise. With a click it was open, revealing an overly ornate office that looked comparable to a Waldorf parlour. The flooring was all polished black oak covered here and there with intricate rugs from the orient. All of the furniture was mismatched in the stylings of the black oak frames but all coordinated in the upholstery. There was little light because of the hour, but it was apparent by the dimly lit chandelier in the center of the ceiling that in the day there was not much light either. The room was designed to be encased in eternal darkness. If one knew what the Ryan Corporation did to become a multi-million dollar company they would understand why. The walls were stained an umber red, which only added to the darkness, and the shelves behind the desk were littered with leather bound books, that were only meant to be shown off, and artifacts from underground science auditoriums. The most noticeable piece in the collection was a small human fetus suspended in now clouded yellowing formaldehyde. The desk was a grand focal point in itself, although crowded in a room filled with nothing but conversational pieces. It was an ivory chest engraved with a scene from an African hunt. Slightly awkward in this part of the world, but as was apparent by the rest of the office there was a need to show off the wealth made by this company. And naturally money cannot buy a person taste. The doctor stood in the doorway looking into the twisted face of the man in charge. Andrew Ryan. The third string of heirs to take hold of the company and noticeably the worst. It was rumoured that he had taken the company in a different direction, which is never a good idea. Conglomerates don't deal in changes. Predominantly anyway. But the most atrocious thing about this man was that he was indeed a mystery. It was rumoured that he had a child a few years ago but no one knew anything more than anyone else. The man was an expert at covering his tracks. That sort of skill usually comes with the buying and selling of high-risk chemical compounds. Andrew Ryan looked at the doctor from across the ivory table scape, he sized him up the minute then as well. His squinted eyes lined with crows feet scraped the doctor's appearance. His mouth twinged at the sight of his current fashion state, but considered the effort of going through the ghettos at this time of night in Armani. And with that it curled into a wicked smile. "Dr. Crane! Indeed it has been quite some time since I last saw you in the back of a police car," Andrew Ryan covered up a slight chuckle. The man was in a lack of a better word, unsavory. "Indeed it has been too long. Come here M'boy and have a seat." His thick hand gestured towards the seat in front of the right corner of his ghastly ivory desk. Crane gladly accepted the seat, as it was indeed a luxury to sit down after the whole journey. Of course, he took his seat very carefully as to not disrupt the scene. His thin frame perched on the edge of the chair, closer to Ryan and that twisted smile than he really desired not to be, but nonetheless this was business. Crane tapped his fingers along the edge of his case that he set on his lap, as Ryan continued his rant in that harsh smoke scratched voice of his. "Now you come to me with a favour to ask, do you not?" He peered over Crane, trying his best to loom over the doctor, "What is it you need?" Crane shifted uneasily, he was well aware of Ryan's attempt to shower his dominance upon him; he lifted his right hand to his temple and leaned against it. In a calm manner, which he knew would throw off the man's sense of control, he proposed his favour. "I need …" He was cut off by the loud BANG of Andrew Ryan's fat fist on his ivory desk. All of the little belongings that were littered on the table scape shot off in all directions and fell helplessly to the floor. A pen launched itself at Crane who simply caught it and put it back on the desk. He had prepared himself for sudden outbursts. After all that was all Andrew Ryan ever did.

Practically foaming at the mouth he shoved his finger at Crane's chest as if he was a foot away and shouted, "YOU NEED TEA!" Shocked and taken aback all Crane could do was accept the offer. It wasn't as if tea would be a hindrance. In fact a nice cup of tea would satisfy quite nicely after wandering through the ghetto walkways. A cup of class amongst the squalid. But then that was what the Ryan Building was made to be. A palace in the middle of nothing but filth, Andrew Ryan – king of the scoundrels.

Ryan gathered himself and stood firmly planted behind his desk as Crane pressed his fingertips together in a quick pace, the room had become odd in its affairs. He had come to ask a simple favour, not to be hosted. He took a quick glance at the clock behind the man's overly broad shoulders – 11:11pm. Crane rolled his head from shoulder to shoulder in a feeble attempt to release the pressure that he was beginning to feel collect in the nape of his neck. He lifted his arm to rub the spot where it was starting to sear with invisible pain. "I wish I could just get this over with. There can't be any possible reason that I should be kept he..." His thought trailed off as he heard the door behind him click open. Looking up at Ryan before turning his head around to see who had joined them, he noticed the man's face twist with disgust and condescendence. This indeed peaked his interest because the man behind the desk had been so confident and collected until that moment. His fat thumb was still crushing a small button on the backside of his table scape and was turning the most putrid shade of white, just like the maggots that had been eating the decaying flesh of a forsaken child on the way through the slums. Turning in place and glancing over the back of his chair, Crane saw a simple girl with a lean frame, hidden by her chemically coloured lab coat, approach the two of them with a rather splendid tea tray made of deep cherry wood. She held it out in front of her with a long outstretched hand as she closed the door behind her, trying hard not to make any noise. She walked as if on eggshells and was very intent on not looking Andrew Ryan directly in the face. Crane followed the woman with his eyes as she came into the center of the two men and put down the tray. Her hands were again in plain sight of Crane, and they made him take his own hands into consideration. Her's were thin and long like his, but obviously smaller and his observation there only lead his eyes up her arms and to her body. She was slender and now that she was standing a foot away he could see much better. Her skin was pale almost as if she had never been outside, but it didn't turn him away any for his skin was just as light. Her eyes were a piercing blue that stood out from under her dark hair that was cut short to her ears and worn much like a boy. Her face was the most interesting thing to him though, because at that exact moment it was filled with such worry and fear, and as she lifted the cups from the cherry wood the porcelain rattled as her hands shoke ferociously. She never looked up to either of them at any moment and it was probably for the best, for Andrew Ryan was glaring at the poor girl through heavily gritted teeth. The man was fuming with rage until he finally busted out of his chair and waved his hand in excess, "ARE YOU QUITE FINISHED ELEANOR!" Crane jumped in his chair across from the man as he yelled and noticed that he was indeed getting red in the face with unprecedented rage. He looked from Ryan, behind his desk, to Eleanor, and then to the table beside him where she had dropped his teacup. An old-fashioned name, but it did suit her. He said it in his head a few times over as to remember her face, although after this scene he didn't think he would forget it any time soon. "NOW LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE YOU WORTHLESS GIRL! GO FETCH ANOTHER!" Ryan shouted at Eleanor as she picked up the fragments of china with now trembling hands, "HURRY GIRL! NOW! NOW! NOW! GO!" Crane looked at the pitiful girl and then back to Ryan, steaming behind his gotti desk. With a fair amount of consideration they did look a bit similar, but nothing that could be seen immediately. She was far more attractive than the ugly brute of a man, and Crane couldn't help but feel the need to help Eleanor pick up the last few pieces of broken china off the table and out of the fragrant tea, that was now staining the black oak table. But as he reached out his right hand to help her she looked up at him and petrified him in an instant. Her eyes were so sad and shining with tears, but they were so devastatingly beautiful that Crane knew there was no way he could forget them. As he picked up a shard of the once ornate teacup Eleanor held out her long hand and spoke with the softest and most defeated tone, "Please sir, you needn't help me. It was my fault that you're now without any tea," she blushed heavily and thrust her eyes downward so that she was now looking at the floor, "I'll bring you another." "YOU BETTER!" yelled Andrew Ryan from behind his desk. Crane had almost forgot that he was even in the room for all of his attention was now focused on this woman who was so shy and determined to not make any mistakes in her politeness. He dropped his piece of broken china into her palm and she closed it in both hands, turned on her heel and started towards the door. Her shoulders shook and Crane turned back around to Ryan who fell deep into his chair with a wicked smile. Pursing his lips together and rolling his eyes he barked at Crane, "You just can't trust them to do anything these days. Not even what they are MEANT to do." At this statement Crane heard the office door open and close in one swift movement. And as Eleanor took her exit Crane didn't hear her footsteps shrink away from the door. He knew that she was right outside, which made him feel a little bit more at ease than if he had known that he was now completely alone again with the condemnable king of the scoundrals.

The man now looked completely comfortable and looked at Crane over his overpopulated table scape, littered with the pens and trinkets that had flown about when he slammed his fist down earlier. Crane shifted in his seat as he felt Ryan's eyes pierce him. After a moments pause he spoke up again. "So, Dr. Crane you come to me with a favour, do you not?" He smacked his lips together and extended out a hand to Crane gesturing him to continue with asking. Crane looked from the pudgy hand back up to Ryan's wrinkled slimy face and took a deep breath. "Well Mr. Ry.." He was once again interrupted by the man behind the desk who instructed him to address him as Andrew, for Mr. Ryan was too formal. Crane put his hand to his chin and continued, "Well … Andrew? I came to ask if Ryan Corporation could produce a chemical compound… MY compound on a large scale, an amount that would cover the city." Andrew Ryan rubbed his temple with his left hand as he ground his right hand into the ivory. He looked back to Crane with a shifty eye. The room seemed to enclose around the two of them, and Crane began to notice that Andrew had shifted from his temple to his mouth and was now biting off his yellowed thumbnail. Crane cringed at the sight of such customs and wished that Eleanor would come back so he would have something pretty to look at. "When would you need this done, Crane?" The way he said his name made Crane swallow. "Two days," he replied and with the long silence that followed he already knew the answer. Andrew Ryan began to get red in the face again and clenched his left fist so tight that the maggot white had swept over the flesh again. His eye twitched and he bit is nail clean off. "ARE YOU MAD?" he yelled, "DO YOU…Do you have any idea how long that would take?" Crane smiled calmly and gathered up his briefcase, "Don't worry. I'm sure I can find someone else, someone BETTER who could do it for me." Oh yes, he knew he had hit the mark with that comment. Andrew Ryan would have bore steam from his ears had he been a teakettle. He rose from his chair in an attempt to rise faster than Crane did and ordered him out of his office. Crane thanked the awful man for his time and turned towards the door.

He was more than happy to leave the claustrophobic office. He grabbed the knob as he had done before and laced his fingers around it. With a click he was free, well almost.

The door swung inward and as the threshold became viewable Crane was blocked by the small frame of Eleanor who had been listening at the door the entire time. Crane felt the words get stuck in his throat as he tried to excuse himself for being an obstacle. The two did their best to try and get out of the other's way but after the third attempt Eleanor blushed heavily and again reverted her eyes to the floor. "Forgive me," she said in her soft voice and stepped aside as to let Crane pass. He grabbed the opposite knob and closed the door behind him. Once the door clicked shut Andrew Ryan could be heard from nineteen blocks away, yelling, screaming, and cursing. Eleanor stayed planted next to the door as Crane stepped nervously to the elevator, pressing the gilded button ever so lightly with his index finger. He stood there for only a few moments before the elevator sprang to attention and opened its doors like a mother's arms and gathered Crane into the lift compartment. Before the doors closed he looked back to Eleanor, who no doubt felt his eyes upon her, for she looked up and smiled her shy and polite smile. A heavy blush appeared in her cheeks and she raised her small hand in a wave. Crane breathed sharply but was quick to gather himself together again. He glanced around the elevator compartment and pressed the ground floor button. With that, the doors began to enclose in front of him. He looked back to Eleanor and raised his hand in a similar gesture to hers. This made him laugh to himself because the poor girl saw this and inhaled sharply, blushing even more than her face could handle. She turned around in place so she was facing the wall and crane gazed at her simple form until the shining doors framed her out of view.


	2. Chapter 1

I do not own any of the Batman franchise, so there you have it. C:

Rain beat down on the hood and roof of the car as I looked forlornly out of the right passenger side window, then through the left. The traffic was lifeless at the stoplight crossing Mission and Woz. Nothing completely out of the ordinary though. At this time in the early evening everyone had somewhere to go and they were damned if anyone was going to beat them to their destinations. With a loud sigh I leaned my cheek to the smooth fabric of the safety harness. Water was streaming down the glass now and collecting on the frame and handle. I was elated to meet Evee for an early supper, but I knew there would be a hellish price to pay for leaving without Father's permission. Not only for myself but for Lucas as well. I glanced to the driver's seat where he was stationed ready to press on the gas at any sense of movement. He was old now; much more so than I remember from when I was a child, and his job description had changed significantly also. Once my father's personal consort and advisor he got the unholy privilege of being demoted to chauffeur, MY driver. In my father's eyes that was worse than being fired.

He had noticed my gaze for he lifted his hand and adjusted the rear view mirror ever so slightly that I could see half of his face; he looked matronly in a way that could never be described. In his eyes there was a sense of worry and concern, emotions only a mother would cater. His hand lowered itself to his shoulder where it remained as he continued to look upon me through the mirror. With a cough he had my full attention. "Miss. I'm afraid if we wait any longer you are going to be late for your date." I could feel his eyes continue to watch my movements as I adjusted the scarf adorning my neck. I found it irresistible to do anything but take a bit of extra time in doing so, as I knew his eyes would not leave my hands. Rolling my eyes and laughing at how attentive he was I thanked him as I grasped the interior handle, lacing my fingers around it. Looking back I saw that Lucas had extended his arm to me. He smiled warmly and shook what was in his hand, "Here Miss. We wouldn't want you to return home ill," there was a pause as his eyes searched for the right words, "We wouldn't want your father to know where you've been." My eyes must have given me away for a frown etched itself upon his wrinkled face. He was so kind to me, after all these years. To think back upon what he used to be like I can never imagine that this is the same man. The same man who would laugh at the sight of my frail frame and awkward appearance as I was beckoned to my father's will. The very same man who would encourage my father to spill hot tea on my arms if I had set the wrong number of place settings. Indeed he was hard to recognize. I always found myself asking how he could stare directly into my eyes as all of those things happened to me, but I found it in my heart to forgive his cruelty. For I do not find myself to be a cruel person. And he himself was suffering the greatest punishment karma could present.

I took hold of the umbrella with my free hand, opened the car door and then the umbrella. Stepping out from the vehicle Lucas stopped me with a yell. "Be careful," he said, which made me stop for a moment, but with the pause I shut the door and tried my best navigate down the crowded walkway. I despised shutting the door on him, but I did have a time to keep.

The restaurant where I was to meet Evee wasn't too far from the place where the car was imprisoned in a collection of steel and loud honking horns. Even though it was not sunny outside due to the clouds, I found it painful to be without a pair of sunglasses. Inside the Ryan building natural light, well any light at all, is quite rare. I knew she would tease me for wearing them but I couldn't help it. I suppose it was my little security blanket as I walked about the citizens of Gotham. The close proximity of the travelers made me incredibly nervous. And their voices, loud and gross, crashed upon my ears like a wave of sirens. I made sure to quicken my pace after a man questioned me as to my destination. He was unsightly and I was afraid that I would fall under a terrible harm if I had spoken with him at all. After a few more grand steps I was through the door of the little café where supper was reserved. The matredee looked at me questioningly. I couldn't blame him as I, myself, would have been slightly taken aback at my appearance. Quickly I removed my glasses, scarf, and coat and handed them to the very kind gentleman that had been waiting to receive them. He smiled warmly and held out his hand as to gesture me to the table where my dear friend had been waiting, hopefully with any luck not too long, for my arrival.

She looked lovely and only made me aware that I might have come slightly under dressed in my simple business suit. I felt a warmth climb to my cheeks as everyone stared; I must have looked ridiculous in a suit on a Friday. But sadly it was the only outfit I could manage to escape in. As I arrived next to the table Evee got up to great me with a polite kiss on the cheek, she was always sure not to do anything rash as she was well aware of my anxieties of others. Sometimes I wish she would hug me though, although I know she is to kind to me to do anything of the sort. Her Auburn hair fell elegantly and her caramel eyes shined in the low light of the café. All aspects considered she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She put my mother to shame, or at least what my mother looked like in her photograph. She smiled and the two of us sat down. It was a comfortably secluded space with a nice table and silverware in all of the correct places. The knives were aligned perfectly parallel to the plate and the wine glass sat perched directly above it. The perfect line indeed. This notion of orderly silverware and china comforted me to the point where I felt it appropriate to relax. I looked over the table to where my friend was watching my behaviours and laughing. "Eleanor give it a rest will you? You're already OUT of there so what could possibly get you now?" She turned her head so that her hair caught the light and flew over her shoulder. I had never been able to do that, my father made sure I never had long hair. He said it would just get in the way of my work. With one swift motion she extended her arm into the air and waved her hand with such grace as to get the waiter's attention. Her crisp blouse had wonderful aesthetic and complemented her skin tone exceptionally well. The necklace she had paired with it rested just under her collarbone and only added to her light catching abilities.

The waiter must have been lurking in the shadows watching us for he swooped down upon us the moment Evee's hand flew into the air. He was a nice enough man and obviously very attentive. He questioned as to what Evee would like to drink, and she ordered confidently. I averted my eyes to the salad plate, seated comfortably on top of the dinner one, as he shifted his weight as to face me. He looked from Evee to me as he cracked the knuckle of his right hand. My father does that, usually right before he decides that I've done something wrong. My shoulders shook as I sat back in the chair and looked up at his young face. He had to be only fifteen. "I'll just have an ice water… please." His brow rose as he shrugged and walked off to the bar to retrieve our refreshments. Evee laughed and lightly kicked my shin underneath the table. "Gosh Eleanor you're so BORING. You need to let loose, it's unhealthy to be so neurotic," she looked over my burning cheeks, down the front of my ugly suit and raised a brow, "You couldn't get away with the Dolce?" I smiled uncomfortably and she knew it. Kicking me again to get my attention she leaned over the table and pushed my jacket from my awkwardly boney shoulders. My eyes became wide with shock and the unnerving idea that now everyone was staring at us. "THERE!," she said, "Much better. Now you look like a woman and not like a little boy wearing his mother's clothes." What could I do? She had always been more dominant than I, ever since we met in grammar school when we were young. She was the best friend I could have ever hoped to get in life, and she happened to be the only person who had ever taken a chance on me. I laughed lightly. With this horrid suit on I DID look like a boy playing dress up, or at least androgynous. I did have a modest chest after all. With a look to my companion I took my jacket completely off and set it beside me. However without the jacket wasn't much better. I was wearing a shadow gray high neck sweater with the black pencil skirt of the suit and I did indeed look boring, professional yes, but boring. I thanked Evee, although I would not tell her that I had picked the sweater as to try and blend in with the beings on the walkways. It was for my own good that I not wear anything eye catching on these secret outings with my best friend. After all if my father had known that I was out of the lab he would have thrown a right dangerous fit. Even with that potential consequence I could never refuse a date. These escapes to her were the only time when I ever saw the outside of the Ryan building's compound lab, where my father likes to keep me sealed away.

I looked to the left as our waiter approached with our drinks in hand on a silver platter. How excited I was that it was nothing like the cherry wood tea tray that I loathed at home. He set them in front of our corresponding knives, and I was pleased with the care he took to make sure the line between the two was perfect. I contemplated his tip when Evee yelled out suddenly, causing me to jump and grab the front of my neck. "ELEANOR!" she yelled, "Don't you know him!" My eyes were wide as I lowered my hand back down to my lap. I thought she was joking, for she knew that she was the only person I knew in the world other than the staff at my residence. Sliding over to my side she grabbed my shoulders and turned me around so that I was facing a small television monitor above the bartender. It was the Gotham news channel and the male reporter bore a very grim facial expression. The two of us listened intently as he spoke from above his papers.

"Gotham Police Department was informed of a suspicious scene at a nearby abandoned building on the water front at two a.m. this morning," the man said as he shifted in his chair, "The anonymous caller said only that he had seen men going in and out with guns and that there was a strange a strange cloud rising from the smoke stack. That was all the dispatcher needed to know and connected the caller to police. Around two-thirty a.m. forces arrived on scene and arrested seven men including Dr. Jonathan Crane. Better known throughout the city by his alias 'The Scarecrow.' It is said that he was planning a large…"

Evee yelled at the bartender to turn the monitor back on as I sat frozen, but he pretended as if he didn't hear us and asked the couple that had just walked up what they wanted. I could feel my shoulders shaking under my friend's hands and so could she. Sliding back over to the opposite side of the little table she took her drink in hand and sipped it, eyeing me like a hawk. Absent-mindedly I spoke out loud. My mind was racing and coming out all for her to hear. "Dr. Crane," I whispered softly as I looked down and picked up my fork. Her gaze was following the movement of the utensil as I rolled it in my palm, eager to know what the deal was. Her hand traced the line of her jaw and closed around her chin as she set her elbow on the table scape. She watched and listened as I continued to mumble out useless sentences and dip down the fork onto my salad plate. After about a minute she broke the silence, as she always does because I never find the courage to break it first, and rolled her eyes. "Is THAT the guy you told me about on the phone earlier?" I looked into her eyes and she acquired a broad smile. "Eleanor how unlike you! How bizarre! Wait…" she paused and poked the arm holding the fork with her slender finger, "So that was the guy in your father's office who helped you pick up that god awful teacup you broke?" Looking for an answer I could feel my face turn red again. I dropped the fork on the plate and forced my hands together in my lap. Her eyes widened at the sudden noise, but she kept her calm. Resting her face in her hand she looked upon me with the cool ease that I had come to love so much. "How could you not recognize him Eleanor?" Her voice was sweet and I knew that she was getting to something good, she paused a moment before standing up and bearing down at me. "HOW COULD YOU NOT RECOGNIZE HIM? Are you blind?" I stood up slowly and placed a hundred dollar bill on the table scape and stepped out into the pathway that lead to the door. I knew Evee was just teasing me, but I suddenly felt the worry of getting back to the lab before my father noticed that I was missing. Indeed Dr. Crane was the man who came to my grotesque father asking for a simple favour, that I could have done with no trouble. And he did help me even though I broke his teacup causing him to be with out any. He had bewitched me with himself.

I glanced to my friend and spoke softly, "Forgive me Evee," I could never look people in the face when I knew they might be upset, "I have to go back now." But she wasn't upset, she looked at me with the same confident demeanor that made her so beautiful and told me that she would message me later. I turned on my heel and started towards the door, hurriedly opening it to reveal a much darker sky and a much heavier rain. I knew that the scene back at home wasn't going to be any more pleasant. I looked through the sheets of rain and found Lucas and the car. He had an umbrella ready and opened the rear door. I never did remember to bring things back with me when I went out, and he knew this very well. Smiling he asked how my date went. I had begun to answer when the gentleman who had taken my coat at the door came out into the rain, looking around frantically. His eyes set on Lucas and I as he shouted, "Miss Ryan! MISS RYAN you forgot your coat!" Lucas pushed me into the car and slammed the door shut as he raced around to the driver's side. The poor man held my coat out in the air as to let me recognize it, but before I could open the door and step out to retrieve it Lucas had the car racing down Mission forty miles over the speed limit and into the dark curtain of rain.


	3. Chapter 2

I do not own any part of the Batman franchise, just simply a fan with some sort of plan c:

All that could be heard as the car flew down the avenue was the high shriek of brakes and the overbearing wail of honking horns, horns being held into submission by their angry pilots. The cloud cover had become so heavy that if I hadn't checked my cell phone screen for the time I would have sworn that it was midnight. Lucas swerved the car to avoid another as he sped through a red light, causing me to drop the phone under the front passenger seat. I cared not however, for my ears were in searing pain from all the commotion of the get away that I clasped my hands upside them and squeezed my eyes shut. Raking my mind for any pleasant images that I could rest upon to try and drown out the horrible sound I realized that I hadn't any. The only thing that I could think of was my father's clashing office, so ugly and hellish, and the sight of many of my worst memories. I shook my head violently and scoped out any mental images from the supper with Evee that had just passed, but for the life of me I couldn't. They would turn into either Evee behind my father's ivory desk yelling at me, or my father sitting across from me in the little café telling me that I need to relax more… and bring in the tea tray for he and Dr…" My mind paused on the image of his form turning about to face me in the olive green upholstered seat as I came in the doorway. I remembered how nervous I had become at the sight of his unnaturally handsome form, surrounded by all of the disgusting clouded jars that litter the shelves of the room. "Dr. Crane," I sighed and felt a familiar blush spread across my face. All of the sudden my mind was focused on the gleaming elevator doors in the port room outside my father's office, and upon the tall, lean man with chilling blue eyes shielded by elegant glasses. Giorgio Armani, naturally, to match his suit. I assumed at the time he did that because of a particular sense for fashion, but now I knew it was to satisfy an obsessive niche for similarity. And he did indeed look exceptionally well. His dark hair shown wonderfully in the faded light of the lift hold, and only made me consider how similar mine was, although definitely not as charming and a bit shorter. He placed himself in the direct center of the lift floor and stood tight and upright, clutching his briefcase in front of him with both of his deathly white hands.

I felt myself lying down across the back seat of the car as I pictured him releasing his right hand and raising it in a good-bye gesture directed, genuinely, at my embarrassingly red face. But what put me over the edge was the small, shy smile that crept up to his face as he noticed my emotion. Had it been possible I think my face would have melted off, falling to the floor in a single fluid motion. I was so warm with attraction. The only thing that I could think to do was to turn around and stop looking upon him, and for THAT I could kick myself. Chances are I would never see him again and there I was facing the wall like a goddamned idiot as the elevator swallowed him behind its unfair doors. As soon as I heard the them clank closed I ripped around and felt my heart hurt in a way that I had never felt before. It was a sense of abandonment that was, in a way, unwarranted. He was only in the building for an hour but with his exit he had unknowingly taken myself with him.

I shifted from my side so as my back was on the seat instead, and looked up at the car interior ceiling, my hands still closed tightly about my ears remembering what happened after. I returned down seven flights in the closest elevator and back into the lab that I am so familiar in and got to work manufacturing exactly what he had asked for. I thought he deserved what he had come so far to receive, and felt the desire to fulfill the favour that was so kindly asked for. I remember feeling myself smile, as I had not done in the longest of times and it was strangely comforting, this thing Evee called spontaneity.

My eyes widened as I felt the momentum of the car come to a sudden halt, flinging me off the seat and violently slamming me into the backs of the two front seats. I rubbed the back of my head while propping my self back up onto the seat with my bruising elbow. Looking up I noticed that Lucas was glaring back at me panicked. His eyes were once again lined with worry as he reached over the center console to help me back up. He looked on the verge of a break down while questioning me as to if I was okay. Picking my arm up and turning it as to examine the current state of my ridiculously thin elbow I smiled and laughed shortly. "Don't worry about me Lucas," I paused and watched as his face slowly resided into its normal state, "that was just a demonstration for the improper use of safety harnesses." He laughed and turned around, trying to see into the darkness as to where we were. I guess in the state of testosterone induced driving ability he had lost our location. It was assumed that we couldn't be anywhere to far away from the café but who knew, judging by Lucas' frantic expression I guessed we weren't remotely close to the Ryan Building as the hour continued to grow later and later. This worried Lucas a great deal, for my father was sure to check the surveillance monitors about the building at the hour of ten, as a reassurance that he still had all of his prisoners captive. I climbed forward and leaned over the driver's seat shoulder so as I was level with my driver. Taking a swift glance at the time presented on the radio dial I now knew why Lucas was perspiring so heavily. At nine fifty-six there was no way that he would be able to get the car back into its spot in the garage and myself back into the lab in time for my father's unnecessary rounds. I felt my own forehead start to wet as I thought about all of the things that could happen to me upon returning to my residence so late in the night, AND after having snuck out to meet with Evee. The curtain of rain spread open in the glow of the headlights, as a sign seemed to spring up out of nowhere. MARINA was all that it said. Right then as I read that word I could have sworn that a hand had reached down my throat and grabbed a hold of my stomach as if it were a stress ball, pulsating my organ with its sausage fingers. With a quick glance to Lucas, who had resorted to biting his nails, and then the marina sign, my eyes fell to a conspicuous crate on the front passenger seat. I stared at it for a while until I finally climbed over the center console and sat down in the vacant chair. The crate was surprisingly light in my lap as I ran my long fingers around the edges. "Lucas," I paused, waiting to feel his eyes upon me, "Is this what I think it is?" Out of the corner of my eye I saw him shift uncomfortably, but then smile from ear to ear. This worried me a bit. With that smile I knew exactly what it was. My hand latched onto my mouth as I stared, wide eyed, up at him. What was he trying to pull here? The two of us sat in silence as the rain continued to pour down, clanging against the metal of the sign. My mind raced as I tried every possible answer I could think of as to why he would bring THIS out of the building, and in an instant I felt guilt race through my body. If my father knew what I had done in the time when I was supposed to be making chemicals for him to sell I would be dead. Not figuratively either, the REAL thing. The leather of the seat molded under Lucas as he turned and put his hand on my viciously shaking shoulder. His calm seemed to transfer into me through this negligible connection, I felt comfortable, but only enough to minimize my epileptic-like fit of anxiety. He had the same calm tone to his voice that Evee had used on me in the café as he leaned to my ear. His breath was humid as I felt it fall onto my pale skin, sending a shiver down my spine. He was much too close to me as he grabbed my hand and put it back down onto the crate. "Eleanor," my name sounded like a spring breeze as it drifted from his mouth, "You made this for a reason, and I happen to know that he's not too far away."

His words slithered around the nape of my neck and pricked my conscience, indeed I had thought the same thing once I read that sign. And as I considered Lucas' crazed idea I could only think of the burning in my heart that was urging me to go along with him. Running my fingers along the splintered wood of the crate I slowly turned to face the driver's side. My voice shook very much like my shoulders as I spoke through my worry. "Lucas," again he touched my shoulder in a platonic way and smirked as I brought the crate up to my chest, "He needs this." There was no need for me to look over to see his response. He smirked deviously putting the car in reverse as we turned around, headed straight for the marina. I kept my gaze fixed straight out the windshield, I felt a sudden need for urgency, as I knew it was now way past ten and that I was about to do the most unthinkable thing my imagination could ever hope to dream up. My anxiety gathered itself in my hands as I pressed them hard against the wood trying to steady them, but nothing was going to help me now. I bit down, hard, on my lip and continued to concentrate on what I was getting myself into. Evee did tell me I needed to be more spontaneous. Would this be satisfactory?

The rain had not ceased its onslaught upon the earth as I stepped out of the car onto the crumbling stoop of the rough old building. Lucas had demanded I take his Burberry trench. He said I would need it as he winked and pulled the door shut behind me. Taking careful steps I hopped up the five stairs in the spots where I hoped the cement would not crumble and ran through the doors of the frightening building. Although it was lit inside the lights did nothing to aid its horror. The walls were cold stone draped with green water damage that appeared as slime, glistening with every catch of the orange glow. Every step I took caused my footsteps to moan and my shadows follow closely, like black ghosts. Fear crowded my senses, but no more so than the foul stench that was constricting its gas-like fingers around my nose and eyes. The only thing I could think to do was pull up the collar of the trench with my left hand and try my best to cover my face. Glancing over my shoulder I could see my shadows closing in about me and my feet quickened themselves upon the decrepit tiles. Running down the hall and tripping over the hem of the trench that was much to large for me I noticed that the hall was completely devoid of life, in any sense of the topic. There was not even a single moth crashing into the light, blind as a bat. Loneliness must have manufactured itself within these walls for the aura of the feeling would not go away. As I reached the end of the corridor I felt my head spinning, whether it was from the fumes I know not but indeed I was swimming. To the left was nothing but a hole in the wall with a sign posted above it. The paint had faded and the wood had been eaten away, but I could just make out STAIRS. To the right there was a simple elevator door with a service key ignition, similar to the one in my building, although nowhere near as posh. I felt claustrophobia eyeing me for prey, as I swerved from side to side not knowing what to do. Falling to my knees on the cracked tiles I grabbed my head in agony as my eyes wagged in their sockets. What was I doing? Or more so now that I was inside the 'serious house on earth' what was I going to do? Hours seemed to pass before a voice saved me from my madness. "Miss?" the man said softly as he grasped my arm and hoisted my limp body upward. "Miss are you alright?" His face was twisted into a look of combination surprise and worry, that in itself was comforting and I felt my strength come back. I knew what I was here for, and I assumed that if I didn't finish the task assigned I would be in for one hell of a beating. Well, on top of the one that was already scheduled for me back in my father's presence. He never missed a step on those occasions. He adores piñatas. My eye caught the glint of the key ring in his pocket and before I knew what I was doing they were in my hand and down into the pocket of the trench alongside the small bottle from the crate. The guard questioned as to what in the world I thought I was doing at Arkham, and in the middle of the night no less. I had never lied before but as I looked into his naive eyes the whole story just slipped out like no big deal. I told him that I WAS Dr. Evee Hurst and apologized for being so incredibly late for my assessment of their newest patient here at the asylum. My face was burning and I reverted my eyes to the disgusting floor, after all there was no way he was going to believe that my shy self was infact the confident Dr. Hurst. He held onto my arm as he led us to the dangerously unsteady staircase to the left. Eyes wide, I felt him place my hand onto the gritty safety rail that circled all the way into the night and inhaled shortly as I heard him laugh out loud. Bringing his head back to face me he smiled widely and asked why I didn't just say so in the first place. I froze. Was he honestly serious? Gazing upward into the abyss of metal stairs he patted my back and started on his way back out through the hole in the wall. Clasping his hand on the slimy stone he turned and smiled once again, "You'll find him," he said pointing a finger upward to a small landing, "up and through there." Lucas' Burberry trench suddenly felt extremely heavy as the guilt of lying to such a kind man crashed into me. But he simply smiled and waved his hand to gesture me upward. The stairs rattled under my feet as I ascended and I could have sworn something crawled over my hand, but the landing was in sight now and through the grate and down the hall I could see him. And that was all the motivation that I needed.

He was not as tall as I remembered him to be, but that was due to the fact that he was entangled in yards of white canvas and chained to the metal bed frame with rows and rows a thick, tan belts. His head was down and his dark hair hung over his face. I felt my heart jump to my throat and my eyes shake as they were beginning to become engulfed by tears. How could they do this to him? They were treating him like some sort of animal! At any moment I half expected a tour group of people to pass by and point. I gripped the cold metal bars littered with calluses of rust and pulled the keys out of the pocket of the gargantuan trench coat. The rattle of the keys in the lock caught his attention and as I opened the door to his cell he looked up to me with those fantastic blue eyes of his, only this time they were free of his glasses. He looked shocked to see me, and I was hoping that it wasn't because he didn't recognize me. He tried to stand up but was prevented by the six belts that held onto the frame. Leaning down so as I could be eye level with him I felt that all to familiar blush drop into my cheeks, as I was only a few inches from his wonderfully pale face. He rose a brow as he spoke, tilting his head to one side in question, "You?" and with that I was at a loss for words. My throat clenched tightly as I tried my best to smile. I think at best I still looked completely and utterly nervous. "H Hello Dr. Crane," I said as I pushed my eyes to the ground. Genius Eleanor. You are in the middle of breaking a man out of prison and that is the best you can come up with? I tried my best to silence my thoughts so I could concentrate but the scraping of metal on the god-awful tile broke my silence. "Are you afraid?" he asked me in a slightly shaking tone. I shook my head as I reached into the same pocket, as no words would escape my mouth. "No sir," I felt myself swallow hard, placing the small bottle in between his bound left arm and thin body, "I only… I only hope this will help you as much as THIS." I was so close that I could feel his breath upon my collar as I undid the fastens and released him from the metal frame. Leaning back and holding my hands out in front of my face I heard a commotion from downstairs. The guard who let me pass was now being yelled at by another. "YOU IDIOT! DR. HURST WAS NEVER SCHEDULED TO COME TODAY!" With their screams my eyes widened and I dropped the keys into Dr. Crane's lap as he brought his arms around from behind him, rubbing his sore forearms as he once again gazed into my icy eyes with his. Still blushing madly I grabbed his wrists, helped him to his feet and removed the Burberry trench from my boney shoulders, handing it over to him. Lucas was right, it did come in handy, and as overly large as it was on my body it wasn't much better on his, although the hem didn't drag on the ground which I counted as a plus in this moment. I turned my head around as I heard the guards running up the metal stairs. That was when he grabbed me and lead me out of the cell into the darkness surrounding it. After all his cell was the only source of light in the entire hallway, and it seemed only too easy for the two of us to disappear. I felt my body turn red like my face as he wrapped his left arm around my waist and placed his right hand over my mouth, the two guards racing by us into the damp cell. He watched the two men look frantically around as he pulled me along down into the dark well of cringing rats and metal. I surrendered myself to him while we stepped down carefully, trying to make as little noise as possible. However when we heard the guards making their way down the dark decline hurriedly he grasped onto my slender wrist and applied great pressure from his long fingers, guiding me down the main corridor. The run gave me such a headache as the emergency lights flickered like a strobe and all of the sirens cried out.

The two of us were lucky to make it out of the great blockade doors before they locked automatically and the whole asylum went into crisis mode. I looked around and found the car waiting at the bottom of the crumbling stoop and took hold of Dr. Crane's hand while opening the rear door with the other. I felt bad for pushing him in like I did but in this moment there wasn't any more polite way to do so. I got in after him and shut the door as Lucas pulled away. His right hand left the steering wheel and he again adjusted the mirror, with a smile in his voice he addressed our guest as I pressed my head in between my knees. "Fancy seeing you in here Dr. Crane," I swallowed hard trying to get rid of some of the redness in my face, "Care for a drop of tea then sir?" I glanced to my side to see Dr. Crane's smile twist with anxiety as Lucas steered the car onto the Ryan private ferry. I hid my face once again as the doctor looked down at me and smiled, the same shy smile from before. "Thank you Eleanor," was all he said as he turned back around to gaze out the window and to the city lights, but with that my face turned scarlet and I had to keep it hidden the entire way back to the building.


	4. Chapter 3

I do not own any part of the Batman franchise, just simply a fan with some sort of plan c:

I think I should have told you all earlier that the narrative switches back and forth between Crane and my OC Eleanor. I apologize for the delay in info, but yes it does switch up every now and again. Please enjoy!

While the ferry drifted along the lumbering current of the bay I could only roll down the window and breathe in the night air. Fresh air it is most certainly not, but the pollution and white noise of the city is paradise compared to the suffocating, low-lying fog lining the asylum. Looking out on the lights of the offices I felt strangely calm, even though I HAD just been broken out of prison by Andrew Ryan's attractive office aid and didn't quite understand as to why. But thinking on how great of a feeling it was to be free I didn't think much of the unusual circumstances surrounding the scene. Speaking of his office aid, the poor girl was seated beside me in the back seat of the car with her head between her knees and her hands over her ears. She looked rather silly. I wasn't quite sure as to whether she was suffering from a bout with seasickness OR if she had a migraine but I could not shake this feeling of concern that had rooted itself in my mind for her. A feeling I hadn't harboured for my own mother. Even after I had thanked her for rescuing me from Arkham she still continued to sit there folded in half, in a pathetic manner, her shoulders shaking furiously. Odds are, I guessed, this was the first time she'd done something like this. From what I remember in that god-awful office I'm not sure she has ever done anything out of line, to say she is on a short leash would be an understatement. I felt ridged, as my hand seemed to raise itself and glide towards her, resting on her unnaturally sharp shoulder blades only to recoil as if burnt from her shadow gray sweater. I brought my hand in front of my eyes to examine why there would be such pain from touching her but annoyingly enough there was no sign of any changes in skin texture, as burns are known to do. My skin felt hot but there was nothing to support the claim. I immediately settled on the idea that perhaps in the few hours since meeting Eleanor I had unconsciously developed Aphenphosmphobia or some sort of Caligynephobia geared exclusively for her. Contemplating as to how this could have possibly come about I ran my hand through my hair, placing it behind my head, and glancing over to see if Eleanor's position had changed any. It hadn't. All of the light from the office buildings slowly faded out of sight as the ferry pulled around the bank and into a secluded port – dark and branded with the Ryan company insignia. You could feel the ferry start to fall back and forth as it docked, which worried me because I assumed that if my companion did indeed have seasickness that this rocking would definitely send her over. Luckily I had removed the horrid Burberry trench and placed it in the center of us like a tiny retaining wall. I definitely would have preferred Valentino and I had a hunch that she would as well, for that was the label decorating her sweater, and the trench was exceptionally large for both our small frames. Her long fingers wrapped around her head and intertwined at the base. There was a sense that she was beginning to relax, but who knew. From previous observations I deduced that shaking shoulders weren't a sign of ease for her. No matter how hard I tried I couldn't bear to pull my eyes away, so silence continued to engulf the automobile as we pressed onward.

Once we were completely docked the driver was cleared for exit and began to pull off of the deck and into the darkness of the road ahead. I had no idea as to where we were going but I felt comfort in knowing that she was coming with me, it was the feeling from Andrew Ryan's office all over again. Even if I was on a field outing away from Arkham and scheduled to return in five minutes I felt warmth in the idea that she would be returning with me. Placing my right hand back into my lap I smiled inside as the car jolted, perhaps over an embedded root being stuck out into the roadway, sending the two of us slamming into the interior ceiling and then onto the floor of the back seat, I remember losing control of my thoughts for a moment as my eyes regained their focus. Smooth leather and coarse stitching pressed like spears into my temple, as the scene outside the windows was one of leafless tree branches gnarled together mimicking the jagged incisors of a pack of ruthless hounds. The car was as if it had been swallowed for it was completely devoid of light, even from the speedometer. I had begun to wonder if I had some how lost consciousness when I felt a hand touch my ankle and withdraw as suddenly. Eleanor. A swift panic swept from my mind for I could not see her. Groping the area enclosing us I found my way back up onto the seat and pressed my forehead against the cool glass of the window, beating with rain as it continued to downpour. My breathing had stabilized and it was a relief to know that we hadn't gotten trapped in this toothy grimace of a forest path. I closed my eyes and tried to think of a memory innocent enough to take my mind off not knowing what was happening when I was shocked upright by a warm liquid, contrasting heavily with the cold of the glass, trickling down into my left eye. Without any sliver of light I could only hope it wasn't anything too serious. The driver coughed to get our attention as he pulled to a quick halt. "We're home," he whispered with an audible smirk as he disengaged the engine and got out of the vehicle. He was almost as bad as Andrew, for there was a mysterious edge to every word that came from his mouth, sarcasm, it would seem, was this man's hideous overcoat; the Burberry trench crumpled on the seat beside me was definitely his. I quickly pulled my right hand to my face as to shield my eyes from the blinding interior lights that had stepped to attention as the man opened the rear door on Eleanor's side. He crouched down, knees cracking in rhythm, and grasped her by her arms, dragging her body out onto a gleaming floor, and standing her limp body up against the wall. I had a feeling that I might be bleeding but when I observed her I could tell that she had got the short end of it. I felt… a sadness for her, which made the anxieties return and my heel tap against the ground in a one two seven pattern. The driver leaned in close to Eleanor's bowed head as he braced her up against the, awkwardly yet, fashionably dressed wall. It was obvious that he was asking her questions for after he spoke her head would turn ever so slightly and then fall back into a dazed hanging. After another interrogation her knees buckled and she fell forward. I assumed that her driver would do something but when he leapt back it was obvious as to his frame of mind. She was not heavy in the slightest, which caught me by surprise, for she fell with all her weight, into my arms. Her head pressed into the chest of my dodgy Armani button down and rolled inward to face my sternum as I held her waif frame upright. I was thankful the roof of the car blocked the lights for I was none too in a rush to have the driver see how red my face had become. My throat became swollen with anticipation as I felt her breathing become sharper; I knew she would be fine as she realized the current situation, for better or for worse. With a loud bang the driver had shut the main gate, causing myself and Eleanor to jump and the two of us to look considerably similar to embracing children, my face burning with shock as to how close she actually was. Her hair was exceptionally fragrant as it passed under my nose. I gazed upwards as I felt her forehead wrinkle, she, looking up towards my own eyes as she tried her best to not move her head and give away her curiosity. That ungodly driver flew by us, practically spinning us in place, as he swooped down upon a magically appearing elevator. Causing my brow to rise in genuine surprise. Where did that come from exactly? As the doors opened I felt her hands pull away sharply in time with a small gasp that escaped her lips. The light from the elevator gave both of us up to the other for we were unavoidably scarlet. And just as embarrassed children will do, we turned on the spot and stood back to back to try and tone down the alarming fire clouding our faces. I thought the awkward pain and anxiety would last forever as my heel felt like it would fall off from my neurotic tapping. Great, I thought, out of one prison and into another. Although it wasn't exactly fair to call the garage a prison, after all it was quite expensively fashioned… for a location you house cars in anyway. The gotti display lead to only one conclusion, for no one else in the whole of Gotham would think to spend so much customizing a room that no one would ever be interested in seeing. The ridiculousness of it all pointed its fingers to Andrew Ryan, thusly this suffocating carport had to be fixed to the base of his corporation. Only on the way in there was no sign of poverty, or ANY sign of teeming life for that matter, which had me quite puzzled. And for some reason I thought of Nygma.

So there we were, Eleanor and I standing in the yellow glow of the elevator, silly looking I'm sure, as I started thinking of what could possibly happen next. God knows what she was thinking, but from the way her hands opened and closed from fists to flat it probably wasn't anything too liberating. A sad thing she is. Then again anyone who had to work for her boss had to be something else entirely to avoid being a complete and utter wreck. I didn't expect her to be a heroine. Heroines don't break fine china. But I could not place my thoughts on any other desires but to grab a hold of her hand so that it would stop the incessant motions and finally discover a sense of tranquility, if only for a moment. Alas however I prove much too nervous for any sort of bravado, she's much too pretty, and my hand retreats back to its corresponding pocket. An annoying giggle, almost, permeated the concrete enclosure as her driver stood with a key pressed into the slot on the side carriage of the radiating lift. My eyes winced and Eleanor turned back about to face me, I turned red instantly. "Come on," her small voice asked of me, as her eyes remained glued to the floor, "its this or sixty-six flights of stairs." I felt on the spot, unbelievably threatened by such a simple statement. My eyes would have gone from their sockets if that ignorant driver hadn't polluted the air with his rancid voice. His hand was on his hip now as he leaned on the door, his smile riddled with wickedness. He crooked his finger to Eleanor who followed obediently into the light and assumed a spot in the back left hand corner of the lift, hands folded in front of her thin body and her eyes chained to her small black, what I thought to be, simple Prada shoes. So plain and ordinary, but so captivating at the same time – much like their owner. Her driver huffed impatiently and stabbed me with his glare, "GOING UP?" he asked hoarsely. Eleanor's head rose sharply and she looked petrified at the sudden hostility, as her gaze shifted from the back of the man's head and met with mine. I felt as though she saw through me as the two of us forgot everything. But of course nothing is sacred in this city and that annoying little man coughed so loudly I thought his eardrums might have broken. His expression now matched that of a nagging housewife as I strode past him and into the elevator, leaning against the back right corner. As he turned the key the doors closed and the elevator began its climb into the storming night sky. He didn't turn around once, which was just brilliant on his behalf because he was going to be placed high on the list of people to dispose of. I would have hit him in the back of his foul head and taken control of the lift, but since a lady was present it would have been undoubtedly improper. AND seeing as how this lady was a skittish office aid, it would have terrified her. Chances are she had no idea what this company actually did so unrestrained violence was not the best choice. Instead I leaned my aching head back against the wall and looked up into the mirrored ceiling. God I looked a fright, it even worried me, no wonder Eleanor was hesitant to look to me directly. I felt my eyelids become heavy and surrendered myself to their intentions, they closed and I felt the pull of the elevator pulsate through me, breathing slowly.

A certain sense of peace had enveloped my mind as we soared into the higher reaches of the building. It was obvious that we had come up the service elevator, which would explain the different aesthetics surrounding our entrance. As the doors opened on a seemingly uninteresting floor I followed Eleanor's slim hips with my hypnotic gaze while she stepped across the threshold and turned to face her driver and I. Her surprised eyes caused me to snap out of my perversion and rub the nape of my neck in a state of obvious discovery. How embarrassing. She held out her small hand to me as she wore a shy smile, "Please doctor." My feet pulled the rest of my body along as I exited the elevator after her, passing a scowling driver. Her small finger pointed down the corridor to the right, so my feet marched as so. Stopping about halfway I glanced back and saw Eleanor waving to the seedy old man, thanking him for everything that he had done for her. I rolled my eyes, for he didn't deserve her kindness. He obviously had read my mind for he stuck his head out from the doors and looked down the way at me. "Take good care of him Eleanor," he smiled that disgusting grin, "you did well tonight." With that dishonest compliment he rubbed her short hair side to side and flung himself back into the elevator. "Thank you Lucas," she whispered to him again as the doors closed and he began to soar up another who knows how many floors. Lucas, I mulled the name over in my mind, a name to a face, he better wear that stupid grin as long as he can because the next time I see him he'll be disposed of and riding that elevator straight into the bowels of h_ll.

A soft vibration flowed through the floor of the corridor as Eleanor stepped quickly to my location, stopping directly beside me. The more I considered it, the more I liked having her there. After being surrounded by rough and tumble henchmen the delicacy of her form was an unprecedented relief, a breath of pure oxygen in a cloud of poisonous particles. I felt a smile creep up to my face, as I thought about her, regardless that she was right next to me staring up into my childish expression. Her small hand touched my left forearm, the more bruised of the two, and the familiar burn shot out from every nerve. "Dr. Crane?" her voice barely audible as it reached my ears, trying desperately to crawl its way down to try and contact the drum so as I would hear it, "Please…if you would." She gestured down the way to a rather ornate door, one that I did not expect to be on such a floor of an office building. Her heels clicked on the smooth latte coloured tiles that blanketed the floor as I followed with her, careful to try and keep her by my side the entire way. I do not know why I did that, a sub-conscious action perhaps or a desire to simply feel her innocence feed into me. Nonetheless I proceeded down the way to the end of the corridor, and when we reached it I was surprised to see the intricacies of it all. It was a solid black oak door with silver hardware and carvings of English lions. Oh yes, I was in the Ryan building there was no doubt in my mind. But what did strike me as strange was the fact that such a work of traditional medieval art would block an office and not something a bit more grand like a church. WHICH reminded me that I was due for an appointment with the visiting cardinal from the Vatican City. My mind smiled viciously at this, I had been anticipating his visit – which was why I had come to this corporation to begin with. I heard my companion reach down into her sweater pocket for a key, which she pulled out and handed to me as she turned the unlocked knob, lacing her fingers about it and pulling it counter clockwise. This peaked my attention because it was similar in many ways to how I open doors, how bizarre that the two should be so close in characteristics. For her to open the grand door she had to push all her body weight against the lions, which seemed to reach out and bite her all over. Clearly she had done this before, for even though she had to try so hard it was at her mercy. Within seconds the door was wide open, the lions cowering in the corners of their carved holdings. The two of us stood there at the entrance to this dark room, awkwardly close for it was a standard doorframe. She folded her hands over each other many times before looking up to meet my eyes. It was then I noticed exactly how tall she was, not nearly as tall as myself but quite so for as thin a woman as she was. It was surprising, for I did not have to look to far down to meet her gaze. In fact she was the perfect height… well for… for me. Even my thought pattern had become tied up as her icy eyes transfixed themselves with mine. In an instant she had collected my undivided attention, scaring me due to how she hadn't even tried. She must have noticed that I was thinking for she smiled sheepishly and looked in toward the darkness. "I h hope everything is to your liking Dr. Crane. I set it up as best I could," now in addition to being frightened by her I was now taken aback. Indeed this was the first time she had done anything like this, but then again, it looked as though she had planned it.


	5. Chapter 4

I do not own any part of the Batman franchise, just simply a fan with some sort of plan c:

She had some sort of idea of what she was doing. I am most certain of it. As the two of us stood there in that doorway, that was slowly growing smaller. I could feel a sense of alarm flooding from her eyes. Smiling up at me she took a short leap into the dark room and ran her hand along the wall looking for a switch. I stayed planted on the threshold and watched her slender form shrink into the black and rumble of the storm.

It didn't take long for her to accomplish her search, for as I listened to the slightly soothing roar of thunder directly over our heads she turned the lights on in a shockingly gorgeous residence, much too fascinating for an office building. Where exactly were all of the employees who slaved away making Ryan Corporation's product? I looked straight ahead, shocked at what I was seeing. Eleanor spun around in the center of a handsomely furnished modern room, with cherry stained wooden floors and shadow gray walls that corresponded to her sweater. The ceiling was vaulted, enough to constitute that it took up space from the floor above, and the windows were large and open, foreign to the rest of the building. The view from which spanned out across the entire Downtown nightscape of the city. Ghettoes littered the ground below, but from this high up it mattered not, for their stench and depression could not hope to reach a ghostly hand up this high. The furniture was clean lined and a dark mahogany, jutting out in a sculptural elegance. A slightly lighter gray covered the chairs and the long couch by the windows. I supposed that was to accentuate the coveted view that was indigenous to only this room of the otherwise boarded up building. Even the light fixtures were a clean, stainless steel and spread the glow to every corner banishing the darkness to other floors. But the most prevalent source of light was the paper lantern style orb that was suspended directly over Eleanor's head in the direct center of the cherry floors. It highlighted her soft features as she smiled and folded her arms over her chest, eyeing my reaction. I slowly placed one foot in the door and then the other; careful to calculate the exact placement of each step for fear that I might wake up from this strange dream world and lose the sight of my companion. As I stopped only a few feet from her she tip toed past me and shoved the door closed, trading places with me. I hadn't seen this coming. Keeping my eyes on her, she walked from the ornate door, which had been carved on both sides, and into the black lacquer kitchen. Her pale skin and bright eyes stood out against the colour, making her clearly visible even before she turned on the recess lighting underneath the upper cabinets. The doors were cut out and displayed a fine collection of rare and antique pieces of china that heavily contrasted with the ultra modern styling of the rest of the residence. Again I found myself staring into her hypnotizing eyes as she took off her sweater and placed it on a bar stool, on the opposite side of the onyx counter. Her right elbow was as purple as my forearm and I wondered if that had happened when her idiot driver had jostled us about like toys in a box. This indiscretion was duly noted, and only gave me more of a reason to seek him out later. She must have noticed my staring for she tucked her arm behind her and smiled up at me, uncomfortable. "Please. Make yourself comfortable," again she gestured to the gray chair by the window and next to a beautifully sculpted table complete with a single snow-white orchid, "Would you like anything? Tea or coffee perhaps? Or are you hungry?" She spoke over the onyx and it acted as a wall, I had to strain my ears to hear her small, yet lovely voice. Sweeping what she could of her short hair behind her pearl pierced ear she smiled, waiting for my response. I felt a bit guilty for I didn't exactly hear her question. Without thinking I just said yes and averted my eyes to the orchid that stood in between us like a child in between its parents, begging for someone to play with. It was a strange feeling. To be with this woman who seemed so eager to do exactly what I wanted and wouldn't be satisfied until I gave a nod of approval. Reaching out I could not help but touch the smooth flower of the orchid, its white the colour of her skin, the purple her bruised arm. Rain knocked on the window grabbing my attention as Eleanor opened the lower cabinets for any pot or pan she could find, and opened the refrigerator to reveal a surprisingly huge middle cut of lamb, amongst other things. The reflection in the window showed the lamb in her hand and a veritable grocery market of other items like vegetables and cheeses. In a hiss the gas stove was ignited and all eight burners were in function, she wasted no time in creating something to my liking. I wasn't at all hungry but I could not bring myself to tell her to stop. With a flash of lightning it was clear the chair by the window was not an agreeable spot and I moved across the flowing room to lean against a steel bar stool, to watch the preparation. Her grace in the kitchen was astounding. She pirouetted about the steam in her cowl necked sleeveless top and black pencil skirt as she grabbed each cookware handle in a recognizable rhythm. First the two on the outsides, then one on the right and one in the middle and so on. I was fascinated by all of it and only stopped when I did not see her hands come back. I had my forearms rested on the back of the stool as I looked up, she was watching my behaviour, studying me and when she smiled I felt warmth that wasn't from the stove. She had placed her hands on the counter and was pressing them tightly under her weight, examining my current state of affairs, mainly my Armani shirt that had been attacked by the dirt from the strait jacket. She stepped lightly to join me on the living space side of the counter and asked me if I wanted to change. I didn't bring anything for the guards at the asylum had taken all of my belongings and I felt naked with out matching labels on all elements of my dress. Obviously she understood me without even speaking for she asked me to follow her down the hall to the master suite that was more grand than I had ever hoped to imagine. The bed was gargantuan and on the right hand wall, placed it all of its glory – its black lacquer head board and crisp white linens. Cleanliness was an unnecessary question for the whole residence was absolutely spotless. I took a seat on the chic bench at the foot of the bed and watched as Eleanor grasp a raised wooden panel on the Asian style closet door and slide it open, following with the other. I thought I had died and gone to a heaven where an elegant suit was required. Everything hung neatly from pine hangers suspended above rows of fine shoes that were placed with their clothing counterpart. Eleanor walked to the other side of the closet and stood facing me with a charming smile, wringing her hands nervously, "Have you a preference Dr. Crane?" she asked in her small voice "for we've everything here. Valentino, Boss, Armani, Gucci, Prada, Dolce," she bit her bottom lip and looked to the ceiling, "I can't rightly remember the others, b… but if you don't happen to like anything here I could always send out for something else." I was floored. It was the most fantastic collection of fine wears, five suits to each designer. They couldn't all have possibly been the correct size but judging from Eleanor's bright smile I assumed that they were. Stepping forward and running my index finger down the sleeve of a gorgeous Valentino I turned to this woman who had managed to scare and shock me without any effort, "H… how could you…" Her eyes widened and a blush found itself in her face, averting her eyes to the cherry floors she turned and glided towards the door, opening it to the hall. "Arkham keeps personal information on file," I couldn't believe it, my eyes had definitely lost contact with my head, "I will have your dinner ready in… twelve minutes? If that is alright with you." Waiting with her hand lightly resting on the knob all I could think to do was nod, and with that she closed the door and I listened to her delicate foot steps travel down the hall and back into the kitchen, where she was no doubt trying her best to finish everything. Exhaling deeply I walked along the closet running my hands through the rows of expensive sleeves of expertly crafted suits, picking the Valentino that had caught my eye to begin with. I picked it off the bar and held it out in front of my stride, lying it down on the end of the Egyptian linen, which tied in with the snow-white orchid from the sitting room. Indeed I was in the Ryan building, no expense was ever undercut in terms of material possessions. Taking off my shirt felt wonderful and to be putting myself into one of my favourite things felt even better, like shedding skin and upgrading to an expertly tailored new set of scales. With a quick glance at my reflection in the perspiring over sized window, that acted as the wall past the bed, I noticed that my face didn't look any better and masked the luxury of the suit, for my forehead was still bleeding. Oh well I suppose, I had a minute to get down the hallway and to Eleanor who would likely be waiting, for the chances of catching her before she had finished were slim. The shoes that she had paired with my pick of fashion were quite lovely and had a sound all their own as I exited the room and made my way back to her, the smells radiating towards me were enough to put me out, but still, I was not in the least bit hungry.

The lights had been dimmed in every place except for over a stretching table surrounded on three sides by large windows draped from the vaulted ceilings to the floor with ornate Turkish cloth and gilded tassel tiebacks. Every kind of main course I could possibly think of was represented on the table scape, she had really out done herself. Speaking of, she stood next to the head of the table wringing her hands nervously and glancing out of the windows at the storm. She had changed for dinner; it was easy to tell, trading her skirt and top for a simple black dress that dangerously held close to her slender body. I pretended to straighten my tie in the window as my eyes traced her boyish curves, from her black heels to her protruding collarbone. But when I came upon her face I found myself stopped with a light blush. It was in that moment that I understood why it had been so hard to forget about her. "It looks lovely," I told her as I approached the laden table cautiously, hoping she would understand what I was talking about. She looked away, but her face was bright red, that much I could see. Her long fingers held the back of a Louis XIV chair as she pulled it out, hinting to me that I was to sit here. Backing away to the seat all the way at the other end, of this table that easily seated fourteen, she spoke in her soft voice as she put a cherry tomato on the antique salad plate. "I hadn't an idea of what you might want, so I thought it best to make everything." That was certainly no lie, for everything was here – the lamb, fish, cow, numerous salads and fresh breads, this was something else entirely. I felt sorry because at the sight of all this grandeur my stomach had failed me and hunger was not on my mind. However it would have been terribly rude to not eat anything after she had gone through all this trouble, and for myself no less. So I searched frantically for anything small around my perfectly aligned place setting. The woman knew how to set a table, that was for certain. My eye caught a plate of caviar, Beluga of course, and I shifted some upon a small toast point that she told me she had made from scratch and brought it to my mouth. The flavour was exceptional; apparently one of the requirements for Andrew Ryan's office aids was to be domestically triumphant. I noticed that Eleanor hadn't eaten at all, that she had just been pushing the one little tomato around in concentric circles with her silver salad fork. An awkward silence fell upon us and it crowded the table like twenty more dinner guests, although if it had been twenty more the food would have been disappearing faster. A million things raced trough my mind to say until she broke the silence first. "Is everything… alright?" her voice was sheepish and seemed to be covered in the same blush as its master. In truth everything was beyond wonderful, but all I could manage to say was that it was good. My mind kicked my skull as it ran around telling me what an original answer that was. My heel began to tap in that familiar pattern as I began to grow more and more anxious. Say something my mind kept yelling at me as I clenched the small spoon in my palm. But what? I felt like doubling in half and assuming a position much like Eleanor's from the car ride here, and as the words were boiling in my skull something finally just flew out. "Do you live here?" I felt my face drop as I replayed the blurting out of such a simple question. Why was I so nervous? Her gaze was burying into me as she spoke. "No," she said slightly defeated, "this is the guest residence." A guest residence, of course, that would explain the unrelenting excess in elegance. I felt intrigued as I urged her to continue. "Guests and business associates of my father stay here before they return back to their own worlds. I suppose that is why he tried so hard to make it stylish."

Houston, we have lost ALL contact with reality. "Your father?" was all I could say.

The rumours had all been true, everything Falcone had said about Andrew Ryan. I never thought that bottom feeder of a mob boss ever told anything but lies. But now there she was seated across form me, the mythical princess of chemicals, only heir to the Ryan fortune. What more, she was so kind, and too me of all people. I began to feel lightheaded, how could I not see it? As I began to fall into the abyss of spacing thought her voice dropped a rope and pulled me out asking as to if I was feeling alright. "Fine," was all my locked throat could manage as I watched her concerned face rise out of the chair and stand next to the end of the table, her small hand resting ever so slightly on the polished grain. She looked to me once more before dropping her head down and tapping her fingertips against the lacquer. "I'm sure you must be tired," I felt my heart sink, "I'll bother you no longer. " and with that her slender form paced carefully to the ornate door and grabbed hold of the knob, but she did not turn it. Instead she stood with her back to me as her shoulders began to shake. For a minute I thought she might be crying. I hoped to god that she was not, for I didn't know if I could take any more surprises this evening.

There was a pause as the chocolate soufflé she had made popped and then caved in. Looking down at this ruined dish I felt strangely responsible. I rose from my chair as she turned around on her heel, still holding on to the knob. Her eyes were sad and my knees suddenly felt exceptionally weak. "If you need anything," I began to feel abandoned, "I'm right down the corridor… the door with the bears." And with that I called her name to stop her but she ripped open that heavy door and shut it before I could get to it. The lions looked forlorn at me as I ran my hands down the think wood. The room had lost all of its comfort and now felt overly sanitized. The streamed lines of the modern style offered no place to catch my heart as it fell from my chest. My eyes winced like a child as I searched frantically about the lions for some way to get through to the other side. The sheer weight of the door silenced all noises form either side. Not being able to hear her foot steps shrink down the hall drove me mad and I began to feel like something had happened to her. I felt abandoned, like I had with my mother, leaving me places and tying me there like a dog on a leash. But what could I do? I'm sure it'd be rather unflattering for me to jump out the door grab her arm, catching her just at her room. What then? What would I think to do as she stared up into my face with those cold, sad eyes? Nothing. Not one thing because I would be too afraid, too shy to do anything but let go and stand there blushing furiously as she closed the door in my face. It would be just like the first time I chased after Shirley, although Eleanor most likely wouldn't turn out to have a jackass boyfriend who was just using her to pull a prank on me. Why did I let her take me out of Arkham? What could have possibly possessed me?

My hands closed into fists as I shrank to a heap on the floor, my back against the door between two protruding lion's heads that seemed to look upon me with condolences. I thought I had escaped from this kind of loneliness and failure a long time ago when I watched Shirley's car crash, killing her instantly. What was it about this thin woman that made me revert back to such pain? As my mind reeled in thoughts of despair I brought my hands to my face and pulled them through my hair, letting my head fall in between my knees as it was held there by my Valentino clad arms. Suddenly it felt as if the lights in the residence had gone out and the windows shut. All the food she had prepared would not be touched. I would keep it there as long as possible, so that every time I paced by I would debate whether or not to buzz her to come back down the hall and be by my side in the darkness. I stared down at my Italian leather shoes and felt no joy from their expense. Like a child, I hoped that if I stared long enough Eleanor would return, hitting me with the door in her urgency to get back, pull me into her thin arms just to tell me everything was fine and that she was so wrong to leave me.

But as I waited for a long while just staring at the soft leather gracing my insteps I realized that she was not going to return tonight. My eyes glazed over with pain and rage. I shot up and reached for the first thing I could find that reminded me of her, the lone orchid, and threw it against the wall. Naturally its black vase shattered and the soil clinging to its root fell off the gray wall, like cubes of foam, onto the cherry floor. I was so angry that I could hardly stand it. I wanted to pull the door open and storm into her flat at the end of the hall and tell her what a mistake she had made bringing me back here to HER building and… no. I could never do that I thought as I looked down at the cherry tomato she had been guiding around her plate. The poor thing looked just as sad as she did around her raging father. Taking hold of the little vegetable I brought it back with me into the master suite and put it on the pillow beside me in the gigantic bed, that was WAY to large for an individual of my size. The red was wonderful against the starkness of the linen and it only made me think of one thing, her face. And the red that shown through her alabaster skin when she was close to me. THAT is how I knew that she had something racing through her mind. And that is how I was convinced to stay.


	6. Chapter 5

I do not own any part of the Batman franchise, just simply a fan with some sort of plan c: I also just wanted to tell you all that this is my first attempt at a FF. I used to have an account on Quizilla, but decided that it was time to put it here as well.

I had no idea what happened as the two of us sat there in the yellowing light. Everything I had ever been taught to do, in order to be a proper hostess, had been done. All was going well until…As I watched his icy eyes widen from the opposite end of that impossibly elongated dining table I knew, right away, that I had done something incorrectly and my face was set on fire. If my father had assigned me to accompany this guest as a business perspective I would have had my faults drilled into my head once again – quite literally, just as the times before. I could have sworn that Dr. Crane knew, but then again my father had sought to it that the knowledge of my existence be made vague at best. That I be made into a ghost rather than an offspring. And the best way to do that of course was to make me a servant, which Dr. Crane probably assumed was my career choice. Although as bad as that may sound, slave was a blessing compared to the alternative. The alternative being a test subject.

But how could I have overstepped that detail? As soon as 'father' came from my lips and swept over the table to him I knew that had been a mistake. How I wanted, in all of its improper glory, to crawl over the dishes and take hold of that word, bring it back to my table setting, and decapitate it with my gleaming knife. For it had made the lovely dinner into a demented feast for skeletons vacationing from their respected closets. In that moment, as I watched his face question my own, a pain gripped my heart and I knew there was nothing I could do to bring back the peace of the now ruined meal. So instead of explaining like I should have done I got up and left. STUPID. I wanted to rip my arm from its socket and beat my own head down into my shoulders, after all, at this point I half expected my father to barge in and do it for me. Leaving was the one thing that I knew would be the worst option but it was the only one my brain could hope to come up with in the wake of such an epic failure. And as I heard him call my name to stop my exit it only caused my adrenaline to shove me out that overbearing door and into the darkness of my, now nervous wreck, conscience.

Leaning my back against the outside of the barrier I could feel the lion's heads bite my shoulders in attempts to make me stay and return to explain, what would in good time turn out to be a not all that important detail. But I could not bring my hand to turn the knob and grant me entrance. Instead I fell to the floor by the threshold, and hit my head on the nose of a proud lion, for the rest of the night. The motion sensing lights of the corridor, after trying unsuccessfully to urge me back to him, gave up on my worthless form and abandoned me in hopes of finding a more interesting drama.

I would never forgive myself.

Never in my life had I felt so sorry.

From what I remember I did not return to my residence that evening, and indeed that was only half the truth. I woke up to find myself in the same exact place that I had left my baggage heap of a body – right outside his door. With one turn of my head the view of the door clouded my vision and the guilt came rushing back, OR that was blood rushing to the back of my head. The lion's nose wasn't exactly a hot stone treatment, that much was for certain. My legs wobbled and felt like pins from having bore all of my weight through the hours as I stood up and shoved that unnecessarily heavy door aside, opening my way into the residence. Upon poking my head in and surveying the scene like a periscope, everything was just as it had been before, including my dress. For a moment I contemplated changing but with further thought I decided that would be a bad idea for I would most likely not have the courage to return. Stepping across the threshold and into the living space my foot crunched down on something that I had not seen from the door. Broken pottery? … Looking around frantically I was hoping that nothing tragic had happened to him when I noticed that the side table was lonely, missing its orchid. … He had broken the vase with the flower. God, now I felt even worse as my eyes fell on the jagged edges of the crying bits – lost without each other. Cleaning the soil and the plant's, what I assumed to be nervous vomit, off of the now spotted wall wasn't as bad as continuing to drown in memories of how bad of a person I was. I can't say that I didn't deserve to clean; not being honest in this building is punishable by death. Well, death on Tuesdays anyway. I tried my best to subdue the awful thoughts scrambling around inside my skull on account of the fact that they were throwing me off balance like an inner ear problem, but to no avail. I completely toppled over the coffee table and fell flat on my face next to the shards of black glazed terra cotta. They were sad little pieces, and they looked into my eyes with their devastated little forms before taking a flip turn and jumping to attack. As I pushed myself up out of that embarrassing position on the floor, a fair collection of black earth had lodged itself in my temple. Adding another case of head trauma to go hand in hand with the severe bruise that was throbbing in my nape from the lion. This must be what my father's head felt like after a long evening of monetary persuasion courtesy of a Mr. Jack Daniels. Now I've never seen this mystery man but my father says that after every visit with him I should stock up on Ibuprofen just like medical tape for the lab, whatever that was supposed to mean. I never had a visitor while I was shut into the lab, man or woman. Let alone one that would pilfer tape from the medical storage, and he knew that. But to be safe, I always send Lucas out for a set, just in case a turquoise kangaroo decides to abduct some for a Good Samaritan craft project.

I took a seat on the long gray couch by the wide-open window as I tried as best I could to use my reflection to pick out the pieces of vase from my stained face. The storm had died down a bit, but it still wasn't going to clear up anytime soon. Even though it was a mere sprinkling that washed down the glass, I knew that the citizens of Gotham, when they woke in a few hours, would be preparing for a flood down below. That is just the way it is here, when it rains it pours. After I was sure that I had gotten most of the pieces out of my flesh I pressed what most I could of my face against the glass. The sting of the chill was a most welcome relief to the burning from the plant soil that was soaking in the small incisions. My brain must have looked like a partially melted ice cream scoop after everything that had happened in these past few hours; I was genuinely surprised that nothing drained out from my ears and onto the furniture. My eyelids were beginning to feel like buckets, heavy with chum, as I watched my breath slowly walk out and then recoil back into my lungs, fogging up the glass nearest my nose. Smiling to myself I slid a finger along the condensation, producing what I thought to be a substantial frowning face, due to the fact that at the moment I could feel a depressive front working its thumbs over the hemispheres of my brain. The frown lasted for quite some time, just staring into my eyes, digging an uncomfortable hole into the center of my forehead as it tried to reach the treasure of memories held up in a moldy chest. "Why are you even in here to begin with?" It would ask the gatekeeper of my mind. Truth be told I didn't exactly have an answer. I didn't know why I had returned back to this residence, after all there was no guarantee that Dr. Crane would have even stayed the evening. A deep sigh escaped my lungs, covering the frowning face with a layer of new condensation. Abandonment would have been a suitable punishment for the space I had left him to last night. He, alone in this strange building, in that ultra modern, ultra sterile environment without anyone apt for conversation. How could I? The glass began to grow colder under my forehead and slowly crawl over the entire window, strangling the frowning face and pulling it down into the pool of fogged sand. Now even a doodle was turning its back to me. I felt my eyes begin to open the floodgates and shut them quickly to try and avoid the sting of crying. My right arm seemed to fall across the disappearing face all too rapidly, and erased the picture before I had a chance to say good-bye. It felt like being hit with one of my father's cargo transporters, this realization that I had a chance to impress a man so beautiful only to look for the exit at the first uncomfortable moment and therefore push him out of my life, the only legitimate ray of light that had entered this building since I had been put up in the lab, gone. Even if I had the gall to sneak out and search for him, the unfair city would hide him from me and force the search to go on forever. The only thing that I could do was to fall limp against the force of the cargo transporter and drop, broken, across the long gray couch, careful to settle my bleeding forehead on my arm, lying still in the void of the storm, dirty with green hue from the ghetto down below, that peered in through the window at me. If I had lay still long enough maybe those giant eyes would lose interest and leave me to the misery that had invited itself over, because it was lonely. That made the two of us. I glanced once more around the living space of the residence. The shadow gray walls, the cherry floors, the spotted wall, the broken pottery shards, the still lavishly laden table, and the gray fabric that enveloped the long couch where I was laying. The minute hand and the hour hand did battle over the three as it showed a time of three fifteen in the morning. It was in that moment that I wished, with all hope, that wherever Dr. Crane was that he was safe from harm – for the police would surely be out scowering the city for him, AND that this gray fabric would just surround my weak body and swallow me whole, into the underbelly of stuffing. I just wanted to disappear, as the blood from my forehead collected on my arm, filling the eye socket like a mold. All of the furnishings of the room began to vanish behind the black veil of weariness, as my mind became the victim of a metaphorical cargo collision. How I wished I could stitch out my heart and put it in a jar, just to try and examine what disease could have manifested there to cause such a pain to rip through my entire self. With that, the glands on the inside corners of my eyes began to sting like a canister of tear gas had been thrown into a hole at the base of my neck. But I could not cry. My soul felt numb to anything short of the sadness of being alone, my body immobilized. All I could do was lie there as my eyes drained out the sides and down my face, mixing with the red on my arm.

As I felt I was about to black out, footsteps pulsated like bass through my eardrums and into my skull, where they rattled around like beads in a maraca. I wanted so badly to open my eyes and see who they belonged to, but they remained tied together, leaving me to judge blindly. Fantastic. I hoped to god that they didn't belong to my father, but judging by how lightly they connected with the floorboards I knew that they weren't. They weren't characteristic of Lucas either, for he had a slight limped shuffle sound to his path. Straining my ears against the clouded feeling of my head I felt my heart jump, which shocked my chest like voltage form difibulators. I could… I… I couldn't rightly believe it. He hadn't left. The idea rolled around in my mind like a cool breeze, clearing out the clouds so that my eyes could finally break free from bondage and see the brilliance in front of me. My limbs began to regain feeling and I drummed my fingertips on the gray fabric of the couch. I wish I could have sat up but my head was still throbbing from the bruise on the back of it. Instead I had to settle for looking upward to him.

He stood there, a step away, looming over my body and rubbing his left eye as what little light streamed in from the master suite bent around his narrow frame. His dark hair was tosseled like he had not been sleeping well, and he was still in the Valentino, with his right hand set sharply into the depths of the pocket. All that shown brightly through the veil of night were his eyes, and when they fell down into mine I knew my blood wasn't the only thing that was red in the room. I watched him as his eyes pulled about, surprised, and then settled back on mine. I could feel the heat radiating from the two of us as we were placed there in silence. I did not dare speak first, for I knew not if my mind was playing the cruelest of tricks on me, let alone what to say to make up for my impoliteness. So instead we continued in silence until a flash of lightning lit up the entire room. All of the shadows that had been hidden sprang out and taunted the two of us with their evil smiles and sharp claws, like a boorish Hallow's Eve trick. In combination with the sudden flash the scene was too much for our collection of anxieties. Dr. Crane jumped, the sudden movement frightening me even more, and I fell off the couch. Darkness once again took hold of the room and disguised the shadows, as I lay face up on the floor, the two of us glaring into each other. Grateful I was that he found the courage to make a move and vanquish the suffocating hold of awkward silence. My face felt like it was going to melt off at the cuts in my temple as I watched him kneel down next to my limp body, the creases forming at his knees as that fine suit bent and brought his height to me. From the little light that hovered around us I could just make out that he wore an expression of genuine surprise, hidden behind his hair that had fallen to his face on the descent down to the floorboards. I was thankful for the darkness, for I wasn't eager to have him read the embarrassment written across my cheeks or see my heart pulsating through the sternum. It felt like breathing through a straw as I watched him bring his left hand to my forehead, and like I was being smothered as he touched my skin. Scenes of fainting were all that played on the melodrama stage of my mind, but I begged it to remain conscious. I could hardly believe what was happening, for never before had I been so close to man who wasn't planning to shove my face into a credenza. And in the current situation I wasn't planning on it happening again, for I looked a terrible fright. All head injuries considered, I watched him as he continued to examine my skeletal form with his shocked eyes. Although he did not speak I knew what he was thinking and my lips curled into a comatose smile, which dropped as he pulled his hand away and squinted at his long fingers in the dim light. A short breath escaped him and I knew that he had figured out why I was unable to bring myself to sit upright and face him, for he took hold of my shoulders, pressing his palms down on the protruding bones, and braced my liquidity against the coffee table. I did not want to rebel, but as gravity pulled at what little blood still held in my skull it seemed consciousness went as well. It felt as though my eyes would dislodge from shock as his hand pressed against my chest to keep me from falling back to the cherry wood. Blush spread over my cheeks in a new layer as I traveled down his arm, then to his chest where the red from his tie matched my embarrassment, to his face, which radiated a boyish nervousness as he realized where he had positioned his hand. And as our eyes met once again he reverted his gaze to the floor and spoke in a short, questioning tone, "You… you came back?" I tried my best to smile as he brought his face back up to mine. Gosh he was lovely. His eyes had relaxed some and his worry transformed into a small smirk as he looked upon my, most likely, utterly ridiculous face. I could feel his anxiety penetrate my skin and battle my own as I tried to formulate a sentence. The only problem was that the melodrama in my head seemed to take a turn from fainting to burning down in a massive inferno. A ladder would burn to a crisp here and there, and when the whole building crumbled down to its foundation I felt my body mimic and fall into his fine Valentino jacket, as his arms contortioned in shock around me., not knowing exactly what to do given the situation. With the last bits of consciousness I managed to shoot my eyes upward into his reddening face and smile as the comfort of knowing that he wasn't a figment of my imagination poured down upon me and froze my body, fusing myself to him. "Of course… doctor," was all I remember saying as both lids advanced upon the field of vision, slowly blocking the sight of him with a shrinking vignette. I really wish that I would have come up with something a bit better, like an apology, but I suppose THAT would have to do, for agreeing was the only function still in any sort of working order.

When I try to scroll back through the rolodex of images that my brain had taken a consideration to remember, none of them really make sense. Of course I can recall falling into him for the umpteenth time. I really have to try to work on standing upright, cave men do it better than I. But following that, incredibly un-ladylike scene, everything just sort of comes in as a thumbnail. Nothing larger than an inch by inch tablet filed miscellaneously in gargantuan piles of paperwork. My mind plays the images back to my conscious in the form of an old silent film, scratched with cigarette burns. There is a time when I can see Dr. Crane's shoulders as the two of us move down the hall and into the master suite where the lights, as dim as they are, still manage to pierce through my eyelids. My heart skipping, as it dawns on me that I am suspended in his arms.

Then darkness.

After that there is another short play where I can feel a horrendous sting rip through my incision as, what I assume was an acid of some kind, was pressed into my forehead. The camera lens winces but then shows the most brilliant of shots. He was seated next to my pathetic string of a body as he brought his hand to my face again, but this time I saw his fingers entwined about the shine of a rather reddened needle. I knew exactly what was coming for I braced my eyes shut and smelt the sear of flesh as he managed to cauterize the cut in the front of my head. As for the back, however, I really hoped that I hadn't remembered anything, for I assumed that would be the worse of the two injuries. My conscious smiled from its red velour seat in the center of the littered gas-lit theatre, as it watched myself breathe shortly and then gasp, into the crisp red area of linen, glancing over to Dr. Crane's bent form as he had brought himself closer to examine the damages of the burn. "Shouldn't be too much of a scar then," he whispered, running two of his cold fingers down my face. I shivered and he had his jacket off in a flash, covering my waife frame with its fine fabrics. A deep smile and blush came about my cheeks as I inhaled his scent, and suddenly felt quite comfortable. But that feeling was short-lived for my heart broke as I watched him graze the light switch and leave the room. I wondered if this was my punishment for abandoning him earlier, and my eyes felt that all too familiar sting. I collected his jacket about me and tried to convince myself that he would stay.

Then darkness.

Which was followed by awaking, no longer in my mental theatre, to the blinding orange light of day seeping in through eyelids. Enter morning.


	7. Chapter 6

I do not own any part of the Batman franchise, just simply a fan with some sort of plan c: I also just wanted to tell you all that this is my first attempt at a FF. I used to have an account on Quizilla, but decided that it was time to put it here as well.

Indeed I woke up because of the orange light bleeding through my eyelids, but as I opened them and glanced out of the window there was no hint or sign the sun had ever come out to greet the day. Storm clouds still gathered in the dirty sky, raining down its misery upon the citizens of Gotham as they all scurried from door to cab to door trying to meet their appointments and keep their deadlines. It just made me think of all the times I had been forced to run around the walkways with all of those men and women. My body shuddered at the mere thought of the horror, and I rolled over in the enormous bed. Breathing in the scent of the jacket that was beside me I shot up, realizing that I was not even close to being in my own residence. Panic stricken I looked around the room, the oversized bed with white linens and the Asian styled closet with all of the fine suits. Dear god, I was in Dr. Crane's bed. I brought my knees to my chest and let my head drop into my hands as I tried to think as to where he could have gone off to, for he hadn't spent the night in here with me, that much I was for certain. My fingers clenched into my temples as the thought of him leaving came back for a final triumphant blow to my heart, but a sudden smoothness caught my attention and erased the previous occupant. I traced the border of the changed skin with my index finger as I tried to gauge the size. It wasn't too large, but small multiple marks insisted that I really had fallen on pottery, and that I really had walked back into this residence with head trauma. THAT I remembered by the brownish bloodstain on the pillow that had cradled my head. A laugh escaped me as I noticed the mark bore quite a nice resemblance to the side of my face, but then that smile faded as I remembered that I would have to try and get the dried plasma out before my father recognized the sight of his daughter's profile. Sighing, my hands fell to my sides as I braced myself upright in a blank stare, until I remembered a tiny detail. Frantically I picked up the jacket Dr. Crane had put on my pathetic body and searched for any signs of myself on the stitching, luckily I hadn't ruined it. But as I stared at the Valentino label all I could think of was that meeting in my father's office, and my heart pulsated in the vice grip that had taken hold. Throwing the jacket down beside me I tried my best to work my way to the edge of the bed, which was no easy task mind you. When my feet touched the cold of the floorboards I instantly thought of the cold of his hands on my face. Basking in the memory it came to me that to feel the cold of the floor I would have to be bare foot, and glancing down I noticed that indeed I was. He had taken off my shoes. A rage of blush spread across my face at the idea that he had a hold of my ankle, removing my heels slowly and then bringing his lips closer to kiss my… I shook my head furiously, bringing it down to my knees to try and think of anything BUT something sexual, what was my brain doing? This was completely new. And for some reason, who exactly knows why, the only other thought that volunteered was one of popping bubbles with number two pencils. Jolting upright, my brow raised at the sudden shock of being unable to control what was going through my mind. I should probably call Evee about this, although she'd most likely tell me I was being overdramatic and that thinking about attractive men in such fashions was a completely normal thing, and to stop being so goddamn sheltered. She would be right though, it is normal, and I guess that's why most of the male test subjects here have to be separated from the females. To think I just assumed that was common sense. I shrugged with my hands held together between my dangling legs, as I looked around the room a bit more. I had never actually been in here long enough to notice all of the subtle nuances that my father had paid to have put in here by a professional designer or what not. There was a slight variation to the gray paints on the walls, transitioning vertically about the room, no doubt to enhance what little light came through the large window, due to the constant storm. The bedside table was cloaked in the same black lacquer as the headboard but had a slight inlay of lapis lazuli, which caught me by genuine surprise. I would have never guessed so ancient of a stone to grace such a modern room. Chances are it was expensive and that's why it was chosen to add colour to an otherwise exceedingly neutral master suite. My father was such a showboat. Following the triangular pattern around the edge of the table an ornate glass ring dish covered by a bell shaped hold of matching crystal curvature trapped my eyes. I didn't remember placing this here when I staged the room for Falcone's stay, but perhaps he had left it behind, for it was much too baroque in its style to fit in here. I wouldn't be surprised if he did leave it though, that man was a vile dog, and perverted to match. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as I thought of the chaos he brought in his wake, and I reached for the item nearest myself to put on as to block the ghostly stab of his memory, which just so HAPPENED to be Dr. Crane's Valentino. The smooth lining was still warm when I draped it over my shoulders, but the hairs were still on end. A sense of nervousness had crept up on me, like he would run back in here and be enraged that I was wearing his jacket. Quickly, by instinct, I pulled it from my shoulders and hung it on the corner of the table adjacent to the glassware as to avoid a bludgeoning if in fact something like that happened. I had thought nothing of it before but upon a second glance a spherical object caught my attention. Through the carving in the glass it was obvious that it was red and not without a skin. I hopped from the edge of the bed and down onto the wooden floor to position my eyes as close as they could be to the ring plate as I pinched the handle of the bell-shaped cover, freeing the red inside and letting it breathe soundly. A tomato? My eyes widened as I thought the small fruit looked strangely familiar to one I had seen not too long ago. I dared not touch it; for fear that one graze of my finger might turn it to dust. Holding my breath I moved around as to look at every angle and examine it for a clue as to why it struck me as being known, and that's when I saw what my brain was independently looking for. There were four small holes in the southern hemisphere of its red skin, closest to the edge of the small glass pedestal where the fruit was precariously perched. My hands tightened their grip on the edge of the lacquer and I felt my eyes widen even more than they already had. I couldn't believe it. Was this that little cherry tomato that I had been swirling around my plate last night? Hmm… I brought my hand to my head and touched the burn mark on my temple before pushing my weight upward and heading through the door, down the hallway, and into the sitting area where I wished that I had been wearing something a bit nicer.

He had positioned himself on the third stool from the left with his head between his hands as he stared intently at a small espresso that he had made for himself. I was a bit shocked for I had no idea he knew how to brew one. Usually I have to do that for the guests that reside in here, but all the same I suppose. His shoulders were arched and the bones were pressed against the white of his shirt as the tie he was wearing hung dangerously close to the small caffeinated liquid. I couldn't help but feel sorrow and I grabbed a hold of my left elbow and just stood next to the onyx counter trailing my eyes over him. His hair was still messed but I assumed that was from having his hands laced into it. I watched the steam rise from the tiny cup into his eyes, which gave away instantly that he had taken no rest through out the entire night. I was not sure that he had even heard me move to stand across from him for his blue eyes never pulled away from the molten dark brown drink, they forgot, it seemed, to even blink. Leaning against the counter I reached out to turn on the faucet, I forget what for, never allowing my eyes to leave his face. I wanted so badly to get his attention, but I was absolutely terrified to do anything about it. The clear water ran from the opening and through my outstretched fingers, down into the stainless steel basin. The cool of it felt wonderful against my skin and only made me long for a bath. My mind was being seduced by the elements and almost had a full grasp as a scrapping sound caught me before I succumbed. Looking straight, over the raised bar counter, I had received what I hoped for. His eyes, petrified at my sudden materialization, burrowed down into me as I began to wish I could turn off whatever mechanism controlled my blushing. I averted my gaze down into the basin where I counted how many droplets had formed after I turned off the faucet. "Forgive me," I glanced to him nervously, "I should have been louder." The guilt from last night returned as a giant elderberry bush that was trying to climb onto my shoulders, so it could poke my forehead and make me remember all that I had tried to forget. I watched him relax some and lay his arms on the counter, curling about the small saucer beside him, "I suppose so," he said with a small, barely there, smile, "although you are quite talented in the ways of sneaking up on people." His smile remained as that partially melted ice cream scoop of a brain I mentioned earlier vanished. Completely gone now, no doubt dripping out every orifice of my skull and down my body, collecting in a puddle amongst my feet. Sarcasm. I admit I was not quite sure how to react, I laughed unsurely but then averted my gaze back to the water droplets, leaving the two of us in silence yet again. It seemed lack of conversation was a growing theme between us, but I did not mind it. Rain continued to slide down the windows across from us, casting a dripping shadow about the entire room, as if our entire world was melting like a volcanic oil painting. I held up a small dish of sugar cubes and inquired as to whether or not he wanted one, but he denied them and kept his gaze on my hands. Running out of ideas I touched over the scars that adorned the side of my head before placing my hand around my collarbone. "Is this your work?" I asked turning my face to profile. He looked taken aback and I immediately wished I had thought of something else, even the pencils popping bubbles. I tried in all efforts to hold back my epileptic shoulders as anxiety took the place of the guilt bush and snaked its head around my waist, burrowing its head into my navel. The phantom pain was intense and without control as I winced a thank you to him for his crude surgical abilities and turned to the side, facing the door. I did not look back to him but I could feel him watching me with his chin resting on his palm, trying to figure out what exactly I was doing. What a challenge he had chosen in this late morning, for I didn't even know what I was doing and added this to the long list of things I had to consult Evee about. Wringing my hands under the shelf of the counter, so as he could not see them in their nervousness, I excused myself on account that he might want to take a shower. I know I did. But as soon as I took a step he lunged over the counter and took hold of my upper arm, interlocking his fingers about the thinness of it like an animal trap and petrifying me to the point where if he didn't have a hold of me I would have fell to the floor and spun about on my sides like a coin. My face was definitely on fire and there was no cease in my fit of anxiety, for I could feel my shoulders move about like a small earthquake endangered them. The only part of my body safe from violent psychological thrashing was the lower half of my right arm, for all motion disappeared beyond his hand. "Please," my heart dropped as I realized this whole situation could turn into a repeat of last night, "I've something to ask you, and it's… its a bit more urgent than changing clothes." As I turned to face him again I realized just how much effort it took to launch oneself over the onyx and take hold of me as I subconsciously tried to escape. But thinking on it, I just felt guilty again. The espresso cup and saucer were now cracked in the basin from being shoved off the counter and that icy gaze stood guard on top of a slight reddening of his face; it was difficult to look directly into his eyes so instead I looked at his tie. "Y - yes sir?" I was ashamed at my behaviour, I wasn't raised to be disobedient, but here I was being held into place like a misbehaving dog. His face twisted in discomfort as he slowly let free his hold on my arm, although in all honesty I wish he wouldn't have. He rubbed his sleepless eyes back to their original perfection and sat there with his head resting upon his hands, staring into me, no doubt trying to figure out this mystery that plagued him so deeply. "How," he paused and I found myself leaning in to hear him, "How did you manage to retrieve a flask of MY toxin?" His face lit up with a boyish wonder as the question provoked an irresistible answer. I laughed quietly and stood there, embarrassed, as he continued to stare at me, waiting. Swallowing, the answer came out as one barely discernable vocal blob, "I-made-it." His wonder slipped down to disbelief as he continued to roam my eyes for answer that might have made a bit more sense given his predisposed notion of what I did around here. "I make everything that my father sells on the market," the nervous wringing hands returned as I thought I would pass out from the shock of having him so intrigued, and by myself no less, "I am lucky. For if I wasn't making his product…" His brow rose, anticipating the 'but' of my explanation while I noticed the sound of his foot tapping incessantly on the resting of the stool. "If I did not make it, it would surely be tested on me. My father likes to make sure that everyone in his employment is useful." Seriousness crept over, like a spider, into his eyes and made me bow my head in sorrow for having not told him this. He must think I am trying to keep secrets from him. I counted each of his fingers as I heard them come to contact with the onyx in a drumming motion, but they stopped. "So… Eleanor," my ears pricked up like a hound as he took a breath, "you're a biochemist?" His voice was soft, but had a defining sense of control. My arms curled around my body in an embrace as the pain returned to my stomach, contracting my eyelids as it vibrated through out my nerves. "Yes sir." It was obvious that he was fully interested in me now that he knew what I did for an existence, and I couldn't help but feel certain sadness as the thought that his only notions concerning me were ones of net gain. It looked as though I had allowed my feelings to become more invested than I was ever supposed to, and it hurt. Just like the sadness of being abandoned and the depression of being unloved combined into one ugly homogeneous solution. I shut my eyes for his face only hurt me more, with its pale colour and handsome sculpture, I could hardly be blamed for allowing myself to find him so attractive. He had been so kind to help me, even in front of my bear of a father. Again, that depressive front stumbled inside my body. His sigh caught my attention, and I looked away to the side as his face contortioned with a concern that seemed honest enough. I tried my best to smile but that became easier when he bore a small smirk of question, making me desire to do anything that he wanted of me, "I can tour you about if you would like." The invitation came out as though I had never suffered second guesses about him, and his smile made me forget all of my uncertainties, "That'd be lovely…" he stood up and started walking back in the direction of the master suite leaving me in the kitchen to watch him disappear into the shadow. I assumed he was going to change for after an all night espresso binge I know I would have, and when I heard the sound of rushing water I knew that was my cue to leave. The door was only a few steps away and as I watched the reflection of my hand in the gilded knob I really did not want to part with him. Hoisting the door open I swung my let foot out into the corridor as a pressure built around my wrist, pulling me back inside. Turning around I crashed right back into Dr. Crane's chest and felt heat rise from my feet to the crown of my head, like a mercury thermometer. Apologizing I followed the line of his shirt upward until my eyes rested upon his face, colored red to match mine, as I'm sure he did not expect me to turn and run back in the door. "I do believe these belong to you," he said with a shy voice as he looked down to me and smirked, quite mischievously, "I tried them… but … they were just too narrow for me." Looking down his long legs I realized that he did, indeed, have rather large feet to compliment his height, and that, minus shoes, the top of my head really only graced his shoulder. The Italian leather shoes I had paired with his suit looked fantastic on him and I found a moment to congratulate myself on being able to pick out an outfit for the guest I was in charge of. Although it seemed that he was more dominant than I given the circumstances, let alone the fact that he had said at least a sentence more than I had in our time together. Words just seemed to elude me in his presence.

As the two of us stood in the doorframe, the rain's shadow acting like bars of a cell, I found that the desire to stay with him grew stronger, even if it did make me uncontrollably nervous. My wrist felt cold as his hand released and I brought up my own to retrieve my manolo blahniks, the weight of them suspended from my two fingers. Pushing what little hair I could behind my ear I thanked him and smiled to the dead bolt crater in the wall. The sole of his right shoe began to press against the hardwood, as an awkward silence seemed to walk up and stand between us, draping its arms over our shoulders and asking about the night we had. That idea of creating an aerosol spray to deflect awkward silences prodded my mind with a bull hook, and with the fourth poke to my frontal lobe a short beep rang out intriguing me back to reality for brains do not necessarily beep. Quickly glancing up to Dr. Crane and then past us down the hallway I remembered that the particular shower he was going to have to endure notified the bather when the water became a temperature that would suffice preferences, depending on the preference it was my job to adjust the degree value. I hoped he did not mind ridiculously hot water. Looking back to his face a short breath escaped me. He was smiling nervously and had his hand behind his head. It was in that moment that I truly wondered if he knew how boyish, and how refreshing, his anxious demeanor actually was. His voice was flighty and I could tell it was probably a proper time for me to take my leave. "I should probably take that," he enlightened me whilst looking over us and down the hallway to the door now spouting steam from beneath. I felt him take a step back into the residence, leaving me imprisoned in the stomach of the shadow's bars. I smiled and backed away obediently to the center of the corridor outside the threshold as let my eyes fall to the floor. "Ring me when," looking upward he glanced away nervously which made me choose my words carefully, for it was clear he had been focusing upon me, "when you wish to go." I turned on my heel right away and started down the tiles of the corridor back to the door, guarded by Russian bears, which shielded my residence. Nervousness manifested itself, pushing me along like a mother who wants her child to rush because she cannot wait for me to divulge my curiosities. Dr. Crane was no longer in the door way, the room had swallowed him into the shower, which was glorious for as I walked by the elevator it rang out that it was going to spit out a being onto THIS floor! Which struck me odd for no one came down here unless it was Lucas, … or if I was in some sort of trouble. My mother of nervousness jumped into the air and seemed to latch onto my arm pulling me to the door and shoving me inside before the lift would have a chance to yawn and a mystery person walk off its tongue.


	8. Chapter 7

I do not own any part of the Batman franchise, just simply a fan with some sort of plan c: I also just wanted to tell you all that this is my first attempt at a FF. I used to have an account on Quizilla, but decided that it was time to put it here as well.

For those of you who have been reading I am so sorry that it took so long for the introduction of the laboratory! But here it is, and later we will all get a better idea of what goes on down there – even Crane! 3

am not positive as to where the mysterious bout of strength came from, but I did manage to open my door in seconds and be hidden behind it in five. The bears were in a more docile state than the lions had been for they did not try to bite my shoulders as I leaned my weight against the door, my bare heels sliding along the hardwood floor at a perfect ninety degrees. Footsteps reverberated off the thick wood and their sound radiated through into my ears as whom ever they belonged to got one pace closer. As worried as I was that they were coming to my residence it was a total relief that they weren't going the opposite direction, and a small sigh flew out of my lungs and into the air space. Listening intently the footsteps ceased and I turned my body so as to press my face to the wood in an attempt to increase the range of audible wave. Suspense filled my mind and seemed to freeze over all of the melted matter. In an instant the stillness of my residence acted like a thick fog, which if I wanted to, I could step away from the door and into the kitchen, grabbing hold of a knife, and cut myself a fairly descent window. From which I could spy comfortably as the assailant barged through the door. If it was my father I would be dead, crawling out into the corridor with lacerated Achilles' tendons. For it was Tuesday. The unlucky day where Andrew Ryan sees fit to schedule his bi-weekly tirade and sharpen the edge of his hypothetical sword, where he has me balance while juggling flaming batons and making special orders. The suspense seemed to attract the attention of the carved bears as well, for every head on the inside reverted back into their respected dens to try and sneak a glance by squeezing in with the heads on the other side. I wished one would return and tell me if I should relax or prepare for the apocalypse as I pressed my ear deeper into the door, careful to do it with the lobe opposite the fresh scars. Silence was all that came through, although I know not what I was really expecting, the doors were MADE to block out sounds. This sense of not knowing what was going to happen seemed to spiral around my body like a ribbon and constrict down into my flesh as a loud knock sent me backwards, plummeting to the wooden boards directly, for the ribbon python had blocked any chances of breaking my fall. My eyes remained glued to the carved bears as they returned to their locations with a sense of ease clouding their black oak eyes. The door swung open furiously, barely missing my feet but annihilating my shoes, to reveal Lucas glistening with sweat and breathing like one of the mice down in the lab. I assumed he hade tried to take the stairs from his floor and realized that it was impossible. He thrashed his head from side to side scanning the room, and when his eyes set upon my wisp body they grew similar to a giant squid's, as large as a dinner plate. "WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING MISS?" he practically screamed into my ear canal as he hoisted me from the floor, placing me on my feet again. I swiped a few white particles from the black of my dress and observed Lucas' maniac behaviour. He had begun pacing back and forth in front of me whilst pulling at the sides of his hair, matted with perspiration. The shadows the rain made in my residence, identical to those in Dr. Crane's, made my driver look as though he was in a decrepit cell in Arkham. Although I'm sure HE had more of a reason to be there than the man, down the corridor, I was now taking care of. All the same I felt his hands grab my shoulders, tightening, as he rocked my upper body to and fro from his own, babbling wildly as to how if I was not down in the laboratory in a millisecond I, and he, would surely be done away with. I also managed to understand a bit of a sentence where he did his best to remind me that it was, in fact, Tuesday, and asked if I remembered what that meant. I tried my best assure him that everything would be fine, but frankly his close proximity made my anxiety flare and caused a violent uprising of adrenaline to heat my feet like a gas burner. I wanted badly for him to stop shaking me so I could think straight but mindless dribble continued to spit from his lips, fueling his locomotive-like elbow rotations to proceed shaking me, like a twig in a storm. I felt my eyes close, independently, as the stress from being accosted began to rise, shooting into my skull like a rocket and exploding in amongst the cavity like one too. The pain was immense and my hands covered my ears for fear that my brain matter might shoot out like an exploded fire hydrant. It was just like being down on the walkways with all of those people, being shoved and ran into. "Miss?" Lucas had stopped shaking me and was now standing as tall as he could to try and get a better look at my face, never before had I taken the time to notice that he was shorter than I and it allowed me to take into consideration the fact that he was always seated when we were together, or at least from what I can recall. "I'm fine," the words fell absent-mindedly from my mouth and down across his head as I turned to walk down the hallway into my suite where, if I was lucky, there would be something nice for me to wear, I was counting on it. Quickening my pace I saw that an outfit had been placed on my bed already. Raising a brow and touching the labels, all matching, I filed through my brain trying to remember when I would have had time for this. Lucas' muffled yell came in from the sitting area telling me to hurry for I had no time to spare. And when I heard the intercom ring out from the hallway I knew he was right. With my dress off in an instant and everything new for the day I did a cross between a speed walk and a jog to get back to the sitting area, where Lucas was waiting with the door wide open, standing to the side. "Let's make sure to have an anxiety free day for once Miss," there it was again, this sarcasm epidemic that seemed to flood through the ventilation and cloud everyone's lungs with a neon haze! Why had I been so out of the loop? I paused right outside the door and did a quick spin so my driver could tell me that I looked decent, which I was quite nervous that I did not. He brought his hand to my face, turning it side to side, and said that I looked fine while carefully picking at places on my cream-colored romantic blouse and black high waist skirt like an ape. With a patriarchal grin he turned me about in my place and pushed me towards the opposite end of the corridor, back towards the lions that sat waiting for my return, hungry. "You know he's been waiting practically a whole entire MINUTE for you now," Lucas waved as he boarded the lift, "I'll ring you at the lab line in two. If you don't answer… well, I can say it's been quite the pleasure Miss Ryan." He bowed comically and receded behind the gilded doors, escalating downward toward the interviewing floor no doubt. They had coffee there, and I knew for a fact that he didn't know how to brew his own. Swallowing hard I walked a few more steps, each foot honing to its tile, and pushed open the terribly heavy door. I began to recall why I was always so glad to not have anyone stay in this room, for it took all of my energy reserves to heave this thing a side. I searched about the room and found him seated next to an orchid with another espresso, the orchid caught my attention for a moment but I discovered myself contemplating as to how he could possibly WANT another one of those little drinks when he had already suffered through who knows how many over the course of the night. No matter, for when he saw me he stood up immediately, and quite chivalrously, causing a complete loss of the English vernacular and my face to match his in colour. "Shall we go then?" I said, too quiet even for my own ears, as I stood to the side to let him by. His eyes were closed, calmly, as his height drifted past and into the corridor where he turned about and exhaled, hands deep in the pockets of his jacket, "erm," he looked puzzled, "did you know you've no shoes on?"

I looked down to my feet, frantically scarlet, and realized that I was, indeed, an idiot.

I could barely control my hand as it shook wildly, refusing in all efforts, from allowing myself to place the key into the ignition for the service elevator. With three turns to the left the down arrow flashed above the two of us and reflected into the gilded doors, causing them to look manufactured out of gold and rubies. I thought for a minute about whether or not my father had paid for that effect as well, but then came to the sharp conclusion that he was too much of a blow hart to even consider any design element of his own, outside of what the professional had laid out for him. Considering that, I focused all of my attention on the ignition so as my glance could not shift upwards into the door where I would see Dr. Crane behind me, towering in his serenity and his very handsome charcoal grey Prada sweater. I didn't remember picking it out for him, so small feelings of rejoice climbed over the wall of blush and painted a smile upon my lips. I haven't the faintest idea why his ability to coordinate clothing would make me so happy but indeed it did, and when the elevator doors shifted aside to let us pass into it's belly I felt the compliments evaporate into my mouth, pressing on my skin and no doubt pushing out my already greatly red cheeks, as the breath encased inside reached saturation. But I said nothing. The two of us stood in silence on opposite sides of the floor as the cables lowered the metal box down seven floors, his sweater forming to his thin frame as he leaned against the bar with arms folded across his chest. I felt like a tree trunk for I stood straight up the entire time, only moving to pull my eyes away, like an axe out of a log, from taking in his wonderfully styled appearance and his exceptional chocolate brown Prada shoes. The mere sight of them confirmed my suspicions that he did not need my assistance in pairing an ensemble for the day. Seeing as how all of his labels matched and he didn't look under dressed. In fact, it was I who felt like the red carnation at the funeral for I, it was now terribly apparent, was over dressed. And as the elevator came to a halt at the gate of the laboratory strong hold my insecurities began to condense in my breath as well, joining the already hot compliment cloud swirling about in there, I wished that I had a drink for nothing but that was going to be strong enough to relieve me of this torturous panic attack. My body began to bounce up and down on my heels as I drilled holes into the interior doors with my eyes. I had never assumed that Claustrophobia had its name on the list for my psychotic nightclub of ailments, but being in that five foot by five dumbwaiter with this man, who brought my anxiety to a head, made it seem like a friend shoved the two of us into a broom cupboard in a barbaric attempt at solitary confinement. In all honesty, as soon as an inch appeared between the dimly lit doors I turned about to face my companion, who had perked up a bit considering the doors were opening, and tried as best as I could to compliment him on his choice of wears as he stared down into me, but sadly it turned into a whispered verbal blob about the taste of his shoes. IDIOT. Hiccups appeared out of nowhere and seized a hold on my far back molars as I forced my eyes to the floor and walked backward off the lift and into the small lobby that boasted a similar tiling to the corridor guarding our residences. His expression had changed from one of serene ease to one of shock as he followed my depressed floating form, brows raised - most likely trying to figure out what I had said, past the two red overstuffed chairs that sat perched like thrones on a raised platform, cowering under another one of the horrid cubist paintings of my father. I never knew why he would put something like that in HERE but I suppose it was to keep an eye on who ever should be unlucky enough to pass by, for if you were anyone other than I chances are this would be the last room you ever saw. This thought of impending doom was like a mist that clouded at my feet as I stood next to a gargantuan heavy steel wall of a door, waiting for Dr. Crane to shake his head back to normal, and focus on what he actually wanted to see. "I take it security is a high priority?" He asked while his eyes followed my hands down into my pocket, and retrieve a pass card, that I then engaged in amongst the inversed reader at the right hand side. I did not know that he was asking me a serious question until the ground quaked under our feet and a few bits of dust settled. His eyes grew wide as the wall of steel slid, ever so slowly, to the left and revealed a collection of white light into the medieval glow of the lobby. I admit the change in visible light is always a bit much, but I suppose after so many years of blindness by the clash of white and candle flicker my eyes just had no more film to sear.

He was careful to walk a pace behind me as the two of us crossed over the threshold, which made me a bit nervous for I was no expert in giving a tour. Most of the time showing some one around this part of the building was only reserved for those clients who had interviewed for the privilege. Odd I know, but strangely enough some of them still continue to stick around down in the lower levels.

Instinctively I let my feet lead the way to the coat rack in the far corner of the little stationary burrow between the steel power door and a wall of, quite lovely, fogged glass, and released my steamed white lab coat from the arms of the coat branches. The spherical orb at the top seemed to bend down in bowing and then spring back to attention as Dr. Crane placed himself next to it. I felt a sense of sorrow for the coat hold, like I always did, for it had the same job as I, a servant to the superior, and I watched as it seemed to put another coat out into the air for the man who stood beside me, one that was much finer, for it was no secret to the inanimate object that he was in service of my companion as well as I. The wall of fog that shielded my residence away from residence arched its height over us, and after a few moments of decision, allowed me to open the door on the left hand side of the two and enter into the laboratory that I despised so greatly but then adored at the same time. And as I stood aside to let the lovelier scientist pass I knew that the sight must be something to behold.

I was told by a high priority man, as I gave him his tour, that there wasn't a facility to compare with the scale of this one in the whole of Gotham City. I was so thrilled that he liked it, seeing as how after that he stayed for quite a while until he finally had to check out. My gaze shifted from the concrete floor to those beautiful shoes, up that body and to the doctor's face where his eyes darted about taking in all of the angles. He had leaned his head down ever so slightly to glance across the smooth concrete floors, examining its dark nimbus colour for any imperfections; no doubt, it was obvious that he was atomite about order, which I greatly enjoyed. And I found a simple smile grace my face when he could not locate any. From where I stood, a few steps from the fogged glass, my eyes traced his motion as he walked about the room, sliding his long fingers over the stainless steel table scape of the oversized center island. The light suspended over the top was the culprit responsible for the trapezoid frame of white that draped over the sides of the workspace, only illuminating the lower cupboards of the two lines of stainless steel that embraced the nearly black walls encasing the whole of the lab. A low hum filled the air space as the ventilation hoods adorning the four edges of the side benches turned on for their timed clean-out, spitting poisonous clouds into the ghetto sky. That is what makes the sky so susceptible to orange light during the night, I remember trying to explain it to Evee but the topic was much to boring to keep her attentions, after all she never comes to this desolate part of town so it was of no concern. I did not mind, for it takes a certain kind of personality to find interest in Chlorofluorocarbons and other such things. She knows what she knows and I know what I know, and I love her for it all the same. The thought of my best friend took hold of my eye sockets with the index and middle fingers of her right hand and turned my body around, counter clockwise, to face the sound of opening metal lock doors and shifting glassware. Little was he aware that this cascading collection of beakers and flasks were only a mere percentage of the actual amount stored on sight. I watched him shut the cabinet doors ever so carefully and pace about to the other end of the long galley-like room. It felt as though a dream had suspended my sense of reality, for if one had talked to me a few days prior I would have never guessed that this man, who had been so thoughtful to pick up what remained of his shattered tea cup, would be pacing around THIS laboratory and be under MY care. I would have never imagined that I would be so lucky, and as I watched him lean against the stainless counter and arch his pointed shoulders, looking through into a beaker, which held a glob of inner eye matter suspended in the liquid base of chlorine gas, warmth filled my face and the sense of insecurity left me. He could have left any time he desired, but no, there he was a handful of arm lengths away staring at what I, and potentially he, would be testing today and I felt … ease. Surely it had wrung my face into an awkward presentation for when he glanced away from the eye matter, and back to me he questioned as to if I was feeling alright and that sense of calm vanished to another world, one without incredibly attractive man positioned two yards away and one without terribly inefficient trapezoid light frames that only dispel halogen visibility to the underside of your face. It turns out to be very damaging to the film covering your eyes I have found out, from the permanent guests around here.

Silence found the two of us and tagged our mouths with staples so as no words could escape the binding and so that the two of us would sit there, with only our feet in the light, and remain prey for silence's awkward cousin to join the little social event. I wanted so badly to say something, anything, for I knew there was no possible way to invent an aerosol that dispersed awkward lapses in conversation, and it intrigued me to watch Dr. Crane take out a scalpel, holding it ever so slightly in his thin fingers, and cut a small incision into the eye matter, causing it to soak up the chemical compound around it and turn a deathly shade of night. Although I suppose the extreme change in colour would answer a few questions when the time came to examine the glob that an interviewee had so graciously donated to me before, they too, checked out. He abandoned the beaker an walked over to the other heavy steel barrier that matched the one we had entered through not too long before, turning in place he stared into me, "So…" he asked calmly, "what does THIS door do?" My mind raced as I wondered how I was going to explain the monstrosity that lay beyond the heavy wall, but that was cut short by a sudden flicker of the overhead light and thousands of metallic thuds as the steel door we had passed through previously was locked form the outside, imprisoning us in the liver of the building. There was no way out now, and the worst part about it was that he knew. What little colour he had erased itself from his face and pooled on the concrete, sliding over to my own face and robbing me of the colour I had, namely the bright red that had made its home on my cheek. Nothing could be done now. My father had pressed that tiny blue button on the underside of his ivory desk with his sausage thumb and sent the whole lab into lock down mode, and myself into another twenty-four hour shift. Little did he know however that he had two down in here and not just his pitiful daughter. I felt my shoulders begin to writhe under the pressure of nervousness as my mind stole a glance at Dr. Crane whose stare was still fixated upon me, waiting for an answer. Silence and it's awkward cousin watched from the stands like the room was at the base of the coliseum, the phone ringing was a tiger's roar in my ears and I launched myself in the direction of the only weapon present, the leather bound order records. Heaving the cover of the non underweight book I reached the page for today and hunched over, trying my best to read my father's disgusting scratch in the now significantly less white light. 'Poisonous gases – Military Grade A – 750 L' was what he had written under the date and it was in that instant that speech had found me, embracing me to its face like a lost pet and blowing into my lungs the only discernable sentence that had run across my mind all day. "What do you know about making poisonous gases Dr. Crane?" the question protruded from my mouth as an arm of a cowboy with a scratching lasso of English that squeezed down around his shoulders trapping his arms by his waist and causing him to take back his calm stare in exchange for a more frantic appearance, "Why do you ask?" All of that confidence from reading the order had left, evaporating through my scalp and out of one of the ventilation hoods, puffing into the afternoon sky like a dark purple cloud, blocking out what little light was filtered in through the thick cloud cover. Independently of my mind, for it was screaming at my feet to stop, I was carried down the concrete to stand glancing up into his hypnotizing eyes next to the steel door that guarded the lower levels like Cerberus. My hands were wringing themselves dry like lone clothes entwined in each other as I looked at the third button on his sweater, "B… because everything we would need," I placed my hand on the cool metal to stabilize my attempt at fainting and continued to stare at that button – it mocked my frailty, "is down through here, and given the circumstances… it seems that we'll be here for quite some time." The button stuck its tongue out at me and forced my sight up and into those wonderfully haunting pale eyes as they glinted with a sense of anxiety. He seemed to be tense and uncomfortable, and all my mind could think about was the feeling of cool steel grazing my back as I slid my pass card through the inverted coding and watched the door lumber to the right side for what seemed like the first time, leaving the two of us to stand on the mouth of the abyss, and on the cliff leaning into the darkness.


	9. Chapter 8

I do not own any part of the Batman franchise, just simply a fan with some sort of plan c: I also just wanted to tell you all that this is my first attempt at a FF. I used to have an account on Quizilla, but decided that it was time to put it here as well.

For those of you who have been reading I am so sorry that it took so long for the introduction of the laboratory! But here it is, and later we will all get a better idea of what goes on down there – even Crane! 3

I admit I was not expecting the laboratory to be as large as it was, especially if what Eleanor said was true, that she was the only one working in amongst it's black walls and under the blazing overhead light, that, for as bright as it shown, was terribly inefficient seeing as how it spread its glow upon the scape of the center island and beyond that, only to the floors framing the cabinetry. One thing was made certain by the layout of the lighting; focus upon the task at hand was crucial. And when the sound of dead bolt locks being shoved into place stormed through my eardrums I knew that I was trapped in here with this girl who continued to surprise me at every turn, and indeed nervousness burnt my feet, showing itself in my face as I stood next to her thin frame. It isn't as though I was afraid to be locked into a room that was obviously meant to be secure, it was the small detail of having her there with me for the next few hours and not being able to escape from her enchanting teal eyes if, in fact, I managed to say something entirely idiotic and become engulfed in the flames of anxiety. She questioned as to my experience with toxic vapors and at first I thought that she might be joking, considering her knowledge of myself far exceeded mine of her, but as it turned out she patiently waited for a response that should have been easy enough for me to give but stumbled out in the form of a generic answer. I suppose this was going to be another theme of the evening that could join in on the festivities that a lack of conversation had been feasting on already. Men in tiny white lab coats scribbling on boards and shuffling about in my mind tried to come up with feasible bits of speech to follow that of this woman who, I noticed, had placed her hand upon the domineering steel door to, what looked like, steady her height from the pull of the concrete. The thought of the massive incision on the nape of her neck returned for an untimely visit and only resurrected the notion of paying more attention to what the surgical consults had said during their weekly run abouts through all of the patients under my jurisdiction at Gotham University. Unfortunately all I could remember to do was a simple field stitch, when what was required by her skin was most likely a butterfly, due to how deep it had been. Cauterization was a viable option after the stitch, but that was decided against when it became apparent that the growth of scar tissue would imprison the nylon thread, and I'm sure that would not have been pleasant for the girl who, as it were, already bore my brand of sub-par surgical abilities on her temple.

As the lack of conversation and microscopic men in brilliant white mulled about I noticed that her lips moved in a fashion that explained something about what lay beyond this pantheon of alloy, only I could not comprehend for the shape of her mouth was a most exceptional distraction, bowed slightly and softened by the pale hint of colour that stood out from the alabaster of her skin along with her eyes and the four lines of slightly reddened skin born from an orange needle. The groan of the plated steel as it slide to the left hand side along its respected track had barely managed my attentions away from her face, that stood out in the darkness with her hands as if they were the only pieces of her body manifesting themselves before my plain sight, floating ethereally around my head as the two of us stood a top a most unexpected sight. It seemed that the wall of impenetrable characteristics served as only the lips of the gaping mouth of the chamber. Fumes with a slightly umber haze permeated along our feet and into the main collection of space while I peered into the throat of this latent heathen. The ceiling above us, as we stood on the carved marble landing, was ridged like an upper palette and decorated with menacing hooks that jutted down at our heads every which way like rows of teeth seeded in a grey nurse; leaving the small weathered lantern suspended down by a rusted chain to be the uvula. Indeed it was unlike any hold I had seen before, the main space being so modern and this forgotten spleen to be left to the indoor elements, age and cobwebs. The small haloes of light from the halogen beyond the steel door faded as it slowly shut behind, leaving the two of us to be chewed by the unsharpened and flesh strewn points of the meat hangars. I found it to be a bit of a stretch what Eleanor had said before, about men paying to be taken into such an entrance of Hell, but when her ghostly floating hands entwined themselves in each other and rose up to met with her chin, in a state of premature ponder, it became clear. They paid for the Dante's Inferno allegory, to be lead throughout the rings of insanity by this most attractive woman, under soiled hooks that transformed into the feet of saints, letting the tongues of fire lick and get their first taste of pious liars. WHICH coincidentally reminded me that the Cardinal on holiday from the Vatican would be hosting at the Catholic Church tomorrow evening AND that I owed him the privilege to be toured around the REAL Gotham City. But that mattered not, for at the moment I found myself imprisoned in this, the proverbial liver of the Ryan Building, with this lean apparition of a girl, leading me down the marble esophagus and into the stomach, still smiling shyly and turning away when our eyes met; kind, even though I had ruined a lovely bit of her smooth skin, that I found myself only wanting to touch lightly when in bed with her frailty. Phobia and anxiety had watched from the other side of the sea of white linens, driving me crazy by instructing me on exactly how to go about the procedure, as I pressed the piping hot metal to her wound. If I had not seen her eyelids collect together in pain I would have guessed her to be a figment of my own schizophrenic thought pattern; How I wanted to just hold onto her small wrist and make sure that she did not vanish from sight.

I do not know if she had taken a single step in our decent down the fourteen marble ledges of varying widths and height for it was the sound of only my own shoes on the stone that echoed off the moist walls glistening like a lake in moonlight with small orbs of candle colured light that snaked about the sides. It was a short path out of the flicker and when we came to the entrance of the main station of the lower floor my hand rose up in mock contemplation to prevent my jaw from falling. The room itself was fantastically large and boasted styling of an eighteenth century palace ballroom, of course one that had been taken by the elements and multiple families of arachnids. The expertly crafted paneling that adorned the walls all around us were cracking and flaking to the unpolished wooden floor pieces, arranged in a herringbone pattern with colouring that matched the deep brown of my Prada shoes as I glanced down to the hardwood arrows that touched its points with those of my toes. There were no windows, just like the rest of the building, but whomever commissioned the space before had placed up fabulous, but now frayed, French draperies at the end of the rows created by mountainous baroque bookshelves that ran out from the walls on either side, only to barely touch hands in the middle, giving who ever strolled through them a mere six inches from their shoulders to pass by. This concept of such little space, I wondered if it had in fact been made for a woman like Eleanor, for as I followed slowly behind her to the center of the room my eyes did not leave the sway of her waist, that seemed encased in a permanent corset for it was unfathomably small, and her shoulders were not much broader. There were times when I thought I would have to turn about sideways to get by without being annihilated by black oak but being tall and thin finally came to good use, and the two of us successfully made it to the center of the hedge maze where upon stepping through I found my companion in isolation staring straight up into the crumbling fresco of the gruesome faces of six separate men, five about the outside and one encircled in gilded plaster. Taking a position adjacent to her right, the two of us just stood in the false light that reflected off the few remaining polished areas of flooring looking upward into the scowls of ancient men. "Who are they?" I asked as she reverted her eyes to her simple shoes, the redness from her scars looking like it had been smeared all over the visible side of her face. They were her family she said, in her barely audible voice which alerted my nerves to the fact that I had caught her in a moment of vulnerability where she did not exactly have an answer. It was endearing.

The unfortunate looking man sealed inside the golden circle was her long dead great grandfather – founder of the entire company overseas in England - and the men around him, guarding him like rabid dogs, were his children and grandchildren. One of the faces stood out more so than the others because it looked as though its fresco had been restored to the close perfection of its originality. The satanic eyes of Andrew Ryan bore down on my body, freezing my flesh blue like the devil that greets Dante in his final journey, while all of the other eyes looked down upon Eleanor, it seemed, with a pitied fondness. Her face was still bowed in submission and only caused my nerves to tighten with paranoia as it became knowledge that she WAS real, and that I could touch her without my hand passing through her deathly lack of any living colour other than red. She was tangible, and it worried me to think that she could be broken like porcelain.

The sound of the storm outside the building fell in through invisible vents and echoed around the webs and dust of the several thousand leather bound volumes as all of my attention was focused on this slightly shorter girl who had, subconsciously, stepped closer to my side as if pushed by the waves of thunder. Her hair shown lovely in what little light surrounded us and her faint scent of English rose provoked my senses, filling my mind with thoughts the Marquis de Sade must have scribbled down on my imagination himself for I could never believe my own mind to have the ability to dream up scenes so perverse.

"Dr. Crane," she questioned while glancing ever so slightly to see if I had heard her, "I… I suppose that its… no secret… what this company is notorious for." Indeed it was not. Every under dwelling criminal in the city knew exactly where to go if dangerous or illicit substances were a part of the plan, what WAS the secret however was that at barely one hundred pounds she made everything all on her own… AND why my face had not just permanently adopted red over its customary deathly white. Upon further thought however I realized that the same predicament ailed her as well, for every time I looked over her face was red like mine, pushing out the white and letting those around us know that we weren't walking corpses, just exceedingly pale. Selfishness crossed about me as I found happiness in the idea that I wasn't alone in suffering from primary colours besieging my pigment. However, thinking about the redness in her face only stoked the fires of the perverted thoughts that had been dropped in through the coin slot a top my head, to shake about like coins in a bank.

Looking down to my left the realization that I was alone under the noses of demonic plastered men hit my body like an iron mace, spinning me about like a top and pricking my heart with seven inch pins every time my field of vision turned 360 in my skull and caught a glimpse of Eleanor standing a few feet away watching me with her nocturnal eyes and waiting ever so patiently for my following. I was beginning to catch on to a collection of her behaviours in the few hours I had been with her and I knew that it was a rare occasion that she would keep a line with my own eyes for this long. It felt kind of special in an odd little way and I simply went along with the mind of my feet as they pulled themselves across the scraped herringbone boards and down in between, perhaps, the oldest bookshelves I can ever recall. The black oak they were made of had split down the middle from years of shrinking and expanding with the moisture of the seasons and many of the leather-bound volumes were hunched over with spines that had a desperate need of conditioning. The small tap of her black pointed heels finally took a breath as she quickened her pace down the aisle, under the canopy of dusted black webs, all the way to the very end where we came face to face with the faded, moth eaten draperies and a poor crystal sconce that was a mere memory of the grandeur it had sported in its younger age. My eyes could not help but wander about from book to book as we walked and pushed ancient rolled up scrolls that extended from the shelves to form a roof of papyrus out of the way as we passed by. A peculiar book had caught my attention, stealing it right out of my very hands, and caused my arm to rise up and try to steal it back from the prehensile limb of the ebony binding, but to no avail. The book sprouted a face that only laughed and pointed maliciously at me like Sherry Squires, mocking my awkwardness and bursting a lung, laughing hysterically as I ran right into Eleanor, who had stopped again next to set of slightly blue books that climbed up seven rows, no doubt to wait for me as I proceeded slowly behind her. Her hand was even whiter as it took hold of the shelf to try and prevent herself from falling over, but it was as if the dust had plucked all of her fingers from the oak, and the two of us fell to the floor in a crumpled heap.

IDIOT. It was all my fault that the two of us were now in quite a predicament, she on her back staring up at me with petrified eyes and I suspended above, with her hands pinned under my own, both of us painted in the brightest red that visible light could ever hope to reflect. So red that the Queen of Hearts Jervis Tetch was always going on about would be jealous and try to steal it for those roses of hers. Had I been a young boy I probably would have cried, for embarrassment laced its spindled fingers about my throat, making the task of breathing into something that required immense talent. Eleanor kept her gaze with mine for a few moments before looking away, to the left than to the right above a slight smile that disappeared as quickly as it had come. "I'm sorry." An exhale so sharp it cut my tongue escaped me as her voice sifted up like smoke. I had no idea what she had to apologize for, and her saying so only made me realize how impolite I was behaving. I sat back to kneel, extending my, obviously, shaking hand to this poor girl who I had just shoved over, and when the subtle warmth of her slender palm pressed to mine I might as well have been greeting her with a handshake; for I would have blamed the shiver in her shoulders on the epileptic motion generated from my wrist if that meant taking away the focus of my nervousness. I couldn't very well believe that I had just pushed over this woman who I was so afraid would break. But it did bring about a calming sense of relief when she did not shatter to thousands of irreparable pieces. If that happened I would not know what to do with myself. Had that been the case I probably WOULD have cried.

I pulled her to her feet and watched as she swept her skeletal hands across her skirt trying miserably to get all of the dust that had had transfixed itself on the black off. Back and forth across the fabric, the motion was hypnotizing and my irises must have gone from iced blue to a black and white checkered pattern as I tried desperately to pull my gaze away from her lower body, for fear she might assume the worst in my intentions. "Do forgive me," I managed to whisper while my eyes followed her hand rise and press against the collection of blue spines. Pushing her weight against the shelves I was curious as to if she was trying to escape the gigantic catapult of anxiety that had been positioned at the opposite end of the aisle and was now shooting large clay pots of phobia and shaking limbs down upon us like I was hoping to do. But to my honest surprise the entire section of blue disappeared within the bookshelf and swallowed her thin body whole. Shocked, my eyes must have become as nocturnal looking as hers were, while I carefully followed in through the door sized opening in the wall, thankful for an exit from the relentless attack by the armies of anxiety. I searched around the small L shaped hallway for her ghostly appearance and finally saw her as she shut the passage and stopped right next my chest, turning and looking up into my face with an ever so thin smile. It seems like everything she did was so endearing to me, I could not help but surrender all of my attention to her, even though the sense of being somewhere new was creeping up over the tops of my shoes and clinging to bits of my skin like leeches. "There is something very important I want you to d… do Dr. Crane," her sentence started out with confidence but then hit a block and disintegrated as she continued, "I… I'm going to have to ask you to stay in the middle of the pathway." I knew that my face must have twisted into some mask of question for she held out her small hand and insisted that I could go first if I wanted to, which I did not but I supposed that I owed it to her, for I knew that the two of us didn't want a repeat of me barging into her like an out of control train.

Upon rounding the bend in the hallway the ceiling opened up in another vault of frescoed beams illuminated by a crumbling crystal chandelier. It seemed unthreatening enough from the threshold, but not a second after stepping a foot across, the roar of groans and wails of sorrow and pain shot out from the series of plated steel doors that lined the walls, facing inward with little barred slots. I took a step back as the sheer volume of noise filled the room to the brim, making the pressure intense and forcibly pushing my ears into my head and pulling my eyes out form their respected sockets. This sort of suffering hadn't crossed my ears since I had been experimenting on people's worst fears at the university under grant from Wayne. It became unquestionably obvious why Eleanor had instructed me to stay put in the middle of the pathway, because as soon as I felt her enter the room behind me the noise reached an entirely new level of audibility. The ornate clock that hung on the far side of the room above another secluded hallway quaked and nearly fell from its hanging as the floor shook from the panic that surrounded us. I watched, my eyes sewn to her body, as she slipped around me and into the very center, and as the light played about her head like a halo. I could have believed that I was dreaming, but that trance was quickly relived as arms forced themselves between the bars on the doors, bloody and stricken with gangrene, flailing about and trying with all merits to take a hold of Eleanor and drag her back to their foaming mouths. She had a weak smile and I felt myself being pulled towards her, only I wish I hadn't allowed it. I glanced about to the inhabitants of her, what I assumed to be, test subject holding and felt a surge of vomit arise into my throat, these were nothing like the patients I had, in fact I was not even sure these things were human. Many were missing their eyes, others their noses, and some were without half of their faces. Their pocked scarred hands clasped about the air around my shoulders and one of them managed to almost graze my elbow, and as I glanced down upon his face frantically I realized he had the worst time of them all. He was missing only one eye, but had his mouth burnt so that pieces of skin had grown over his lips forming a sort of flesh prison. As I reached Eleanor a sickness had manifested itself in my stomach and continued to somersault with every cry of pain. "What are these?" I asked her, the fear turning into a tone of anger as to the fact that this caught me completely off guard, this the fourth ring of Hell, and I must have looked ridiculous, a green offsetting my pale white. But immediately following the question I felt guilty for yelling at her. She had nothing to do with this. "THIS Dr. Crane," she spoke to her shoes, "is what this company is famous for."

Indeed it was what Ryan was famous for. Not only was the name recognizable for its automatic association with dangerous chemicals but also for their open human testing. I began to understand what was going on here, and when I asked how she kept all of these sub-human… creatures from running away she simply told me that they ALL had applied for the job. Of course, knowing this little fact made the rumours of the Ryan Building eating souls completely believable and almost true, but it didn't take away from the ominous feeling of a heavy depression. I watched as her rail body turned on its heel and started toward the smaller hallway at the opposite of where I was standing. All I could think of doing was grabbing her wrist and leaving this satanic collection of diseased swine but instead I followed her down the path. After all it wouldn't have been very gentlemanly to leave her alone down here, and in some sort of danger no less, well… not that she wasn't used to being imprisoned down here alone anyway. Our steps echoed against the wriggling walls and I found myself having to shield my eyes from a light comparable to a medieval torch as Eleanor once again pushed open a door that looked much too large for her and stepped out from it, holding her hand to me which I unknowingly took hold of, turning red in an instant and letting go. I knew she was smiling as she kept her eyes focused away from my face for I could feel her blush radiating outwards in tiny infrared waves. "I am sorry if I have frightened you," she said as her right foot curled over her left and she pulled at her index finger, "I promised that I would tour you about the laboratory, but I'm pr…pretty sure that you weren't expecting anything like that," she glanced up to me for a fraction of a second and moved to clasp her hand around her bicep, "sometimes I can't even believe what I have to take care of."

Her honesty was like a sword, slicing at my knee and forcing me to kneel in front of her to repent for being so upset. Guilt was now a member of the group that traveled about with she and I, and all I could think about doing was bringing her to me and resting my chin a top her head in embrace. She asked me if I would like to go back up to the main floor, which I gladly accepted, and when she turned about I followed her with the largest grin that could possibly fit on my face, thinking of all the ways she could be helpful to my campaign across the city. Not only was she so kind to me, but also I now realized that she would do everything that I asked of her. Needless to say she was quite an advantage against the Batman.


	10. Chapter 9

I do not own any part of the Batman franchise, just simply a fan with some sort of plan c: I also just wanted to tell you all that this is my first attempt at a FF. I used to have an account on Quizilla, but decided that it was time to put it here as well.

It took a little while before I realized that the entire lower stage of the laboratory was just a gigantic circle. Indeed it was for the two of us had gone down the stairs, through the bookshelves, through Hell, and then back through the bookshelves because here we were back under these hideous faces in the center of the maze of dusty old volumes. My neck hurt from letting it fall back so as I could allow myself to take in the entire piece of art. Eleanor, in turn, had placed herself on the floor, leaning back against the end of another shelf across the way from where I was standing. My eyes traced her outline and when my sight dropped below her prominent collarbone I realized that she was breathing heavily. I could feel my brow rise in suspicion, carefully positioning my steps as I walked over next to her, staring down at her limp form. "Forgive me sir," she exhaled lightly while she shifted her gaze up to mine, "Their screaming really drains your energy…," she grabbed the edges of the black oak from behind her back and pulled herself up to her feet, "If you wish to join me I'm off to fill the order for the night."

Her height swayed viciously from side to side and I was worried that I would have to try and catch her before she fell like a cedar down to the floor, but luckily she managed to pull herself together and we both avoided another round of turning bright red. Her heels barely made noise as they collected on the points of the herringbone pattern and I had to shorten my stride to make time with her slow progression. It was as if the two of us had switched places in terms of our pace, and as I watched her from behind I noticed that the palette of cream her blouse worked with was brutally marred with a slash of crimson that replaced the line of her fourth rib. The sight of blood for the first time in a few days had me thinking about my plans for tomorrow evening with the Cardinal, but also it seemed to provoke the return of the dreaded Marquis, for images of taking her top off and sewing her back up like a tattered child's play thing ran wildly. Curse that sadistic liaison.

Once we reached the stairs however the feeling of her eyes watching my expression brought me back to reality, and with a shake of my head I brought my hand to my eye to rub away the tiredness that had decided to finally show itself after my night of staying up with the company of strong coffee instead of what I really wanted… her. I tried to fight back a serious blush as she smiled at my grogginess, but she wrapped her arms around her abdomen and her smile dropped. I felt like I had been robbed when her smile vanished, as she brought back her right hand revealing a stained red. My eyes winced because I did not know exactly what to expect, but relief swept over me when she simply pulled her hand across her hip and said that she had a scar that was prone to ripping open every now and then. The collar of my Prada sweater was beginning to fell like it was being hoisted upward from the back by Bane as feelings collected in my throat and prevented me from speaking, which concerned my companion for her smiled shifted aside to be replaced by a subtle frown. "You can sleep if you would like," her whisper traveled upward into my ear as that lovely smile returned, "after all I owe you a favour for taking care of… me." Her small voice became even more vague as she spoke of herself like it was a curse word and avoided my gaze like I would hit her, as if she were a misbehaving dog. A new sense of guilt filled my chest like a rage of Tuberculosis and I knew that if I didn't think of something quickly I would end up worrying her even more by having the fiercest of coughing spells. Those little men in white coats were running frantically around the lobes of my mind as I tried to think of something to take away this surge of nervousness, but the only thing they came up with was to offer to make her father's ridiculous order for her, and as soon as that flew out from my mouth I wish that I could have just reached out and trapped it in a glass jar like a verbal butterfly. Her expression twisted with what I assumed to be shock and perhaps a bit of amusement for she laughed for the first time since I had met her, and it was the most endearing thing I could ever hope to recall. Her voice was still small but there was an overtone of hilarity as she agreed to disagree and suggested that I get some rest, because she was sure that I had a busy day planned for the morning. My brain wrung itself out and it seemed that all of the blood left my head, draining out from my tear ducts and nostrils. I had no idea how she would know what I had planned for tomorrow, but I'm sure that the thought in which she knew of the Cardinal was just an unholy attempt at teasing me by the guilt that refused to go away. AND that guilt followed a few steps behind as Eleanor led me to the right of the marble ledges and through a peeling door. The room that lay beyond the once beautiful Caribbean blue was a far cry from the residence I was staying in upstairs, which was an inescapable fact. The overly ornate décor and the collection of baroque antiques brought about a feeling of claustrophobia and unease, which only made me want to go back upstairs with her and force her to sit down while I scurried about like one of the rats in a cage, making every single liter that her boorish father called for. It was not as though I didn't appreciate the gesture of allowing me to get some rest, but after becoming adjusted to the ultra sleek lines of the modern elements filigree just is not something that I desired to see, let alone have my eyes closed next to. And as if that wasn't enough to stir about in my skull, all of the eighteenth century designs made me think of the godforsaken Marquis, yet again, that I wished would just go burn in a ditch, for I really did not have the patience to try and expel anymore perverse thoughts about Eleanor from my mind's eye.

Speaking of my companion she stood on the threshold of the room and just smiled to her feet as she told me that she had better get started due to the fact that only eleven hours remained to finish the order that had to be delivered out to the buyer by nine. I wondered why she didn't just have that leech Lucas go drive it out for her, but then I figured she must enjoy getting out when the opportunity presented itself. Her fingers turned translucent as she held tightly to the knob, that I thought would burst if her grip strangled the gilded metal any more, and a heavy silence fell upon us like some one had thrown a black cloth over our eyes, making us blind to the other. All I wanted to do was ask her to stay with me, not to leave and go serve her father's scientific heresy, but to keep me company here in this room that boasted probably the least light of anywhere else in the building. I needed her radiant white to stand next to the bedside and illuminate the surrounding areas as I stared into her eyes and traced her long fingers with my own, waiting until she got tired where then she could lay next to me and continue to glow even while she slept, like she had done the night before. I paused. Such a strange feeling this was that had come over me as my sight climbed up her legs; and when she turned about to take her leave I thought my skeleton would rip from my skin and trap her in its rib cage, refusing to let her leave my formless body alone in this mausoleum of French wares. But alas, I lack the bravado to do anything rash, so instead of asking her to stay I simply watched her disappear behind the flaking door, that littered the ground with blue speckles, and reached into my chest to try and restrain my heart from packing up and leaving. Succumbing to the frantic darting of my eyes from ornate King Louis the Fourteenth chairs to the worn panels on the cupboard and then to my feet that sat upon an uncomfortable laced pillow, the chocolate brown melting and spilling over onto the tattered golden silk that spread over the slightly smaller bed, shaded by the most brilliant of red chiffons. The low light permeated through the fabric and cast a deep glow, falling about my head like scarlet snakes that curled about my arms, holding me in place until the struggle proved too much and I reluctantly fell asleep, cold and not the least bit kingly in this decrepit palatial bed chamber. The wing-backed chair that sat with the clouded sconce scooted closer as a feeling of loneliness took its place on the striped cushion and pulled out a copy of Othello to satisfy its boredom while it spent the night watching over me; my proverbial nurse and I, the hypothetical ill child. I wondered if I would wake up to find Eleanor with her head split open again, and as rude as it was I hoped that I would open my eyes to find that she had taken the place of loneliness, her long legs crossed and her cracked head resting, encased in her hand, while she turned the yellowed pages one by one. Although I hadn't the faintest idea if she was partial to Shakespeare, so perhaps it would be a rare first edition of Candide. For everyone who's anyone enjoys Voltaire.

Morning came with an untimely route, and I am not entirely sure as to how my body knew that the sun had rolled over to this side of the equator while it was restrained in this grand cell of false light, but none the less I was more than elated to be free of that horrid under dwelling room of over-indulgence. The door opened with barely any force and my shoes felt like casing after having slept in them, I longed to take them off but I decided against it seeing as how many people don't exactly get to say that they sleep in full Prada. The baritone echo of my steps as I ascended the marble worried me ever so slightly because they did not sound like mine at all. In fact they bore a sound similar to Andrew Ryan's flat-footed, unnecessarily heavy gate that had nearly caught me a fortnight before hand. But no matter, I reached the steel plate of a wall and felt the inescapable urge to touch it, as Eleanor had done a few hours previous, only I did not harbour a need to steady my inner ear. The heavy metal vibrated at my touch and started its arduous journey along its track, stepping aside like a commander in defeat to reveal a very different sight. The laboratory had taken a turn for the worse, and I did not want the soles of my shoes to contact the concrete of the floor for fear that I might grow a tentacle where my foot had once been. The halogen light above the roaming table in the center was flickering madly and the table scape it self was littered with shards of broken glassware, ranging from a mere splinter to pieces the size of dueling rapiers. Three of the gas burners were flaring upward in a mad rush to escape out into the weeping sky, and the four mice that made their home in a small sterling cage on the side counter closest to myself gathered around in an ellipse to mourn the loss of one of their companions. The sight of the animal's morose was a thing of wonder, as their brain was not much larger than a lentil and therefore incapable of holding any real emotion, well besides fear. I was curious to know as to what happened in here but more intrigued by the fact that one key element was missing. The concrete sloshed as the chemicals, which smelt of Ammonia and Sulfur Dioxide, separated away from my steps in evenly spaced rings that glided on the dark grey all the way to the opposite wall. It was hard to gain control of my bearings as I stumbled about in the strobing white light that flashed off of the stainless steel and was eaten by the hungry black walls. I was hoping that Eleanor was not hidden in here somewhere, for it now became apparent that Andrew Ryan had paid a visit to his scientific staff and that he was not all that impressed. The raging fires under the ventilation hoods spilled smoke into the room and stripped the air of its oxygen as I, luckily, located a retardant glove that extended all the way up my arm.

Putting it on, I was able to extinguish the fires by turning off their gas sources, although who knew what kind of damage had sunk down into the lines and was now running rampant through the capillaries of the building. The sinks covered by the hoods were striped with acid green droplets, additional violent shards of glass, and, unfortunately for my stomach, the remainder of the gelatinous inner eye matter that I had turned dark after allowing the compound it was suspended in to flow freely inside, destroying every cellular wall and protein. I had hoped she was not mad that I accelerated her experiment, but at this point of obvious devastation I frankly just hoped she wasn't dead. The man in charge did not seem to understand that every successful dictatorship, whether in politics or economics, desperately needs their scientists, after all that proved to be the Nazi's Trojan horse, and if not treated properly those brains of the operation will move on to the next up-and-coming war hero, business mogul – what have you. Thinking on this in a greater detail I also hoped that she had not been traded to another commodity, but even so I simply just hoped that I was not alone in this flickering dungeon of smoke and toxic fumes. I tried my best to slow down my breathing but even a few moments in amongst the air, saturated with Chlorine gas, is enough time to cause a sickness to develop in someone as thin as I. The ground did not look inviting but it did seem to spring out three dimensionally, thanks to the strobe effect of shocked halogen being suspended at a violent angle, and the liquids that blanketed the concrete seemed to spit up tiny droplets as if it was raining indoors, providing the bitterest of wind chills. I knew exactly what was happening to me as the door that shielded the room from the elevator hold opened a lot faster than I had imagined it would to reveal a spaceship-like main gate of light and a seemingly foreign being. Her cream coloured blouse sported numerous streaks of a browned crimson and her left leg was not without its fair share of red spilling down the shin from a source concealed by her skirt. Her rib cage bent slightly inward with every pained inhale, her shoulders shaking ever so slightly. At first I thought of a chemical explosion, for what she had to manufacture did call for contained oxygen to be present, but as she crossed the covered floor and laced her small hand about my right upper arm I knew that no explosion of chemical kind had taken place. An explosion of rage yes, but nothing having to do with illicit compounds. Her white skin was punctured with ferocious bits of switchblade sized glass shards, one in particular stood out for it had the markings of a milliliter scale, and her lovely face was scarred something awful. Only one of her teal eyes retained its angelic characteristics while the other was buried under streaks of broken blood vessels and a pile of bruising. But when the light of the hold outside from the secure door illuminated her presence I saw that she still retained a small smile of relief. It had been so long since I had seen a woman in such poor condition, but when she sat me down in one of the oversized red chairs outside of the elevator I felt a redness climb to my face for she was still so ethereal, even with a face scarred by the demon himself. Her posture was that of a godly sort as well, when she stood a loft beside me I felt encased by her shadow, even though there was no such thing anywhere in the room. "My father says the order was meant to be delivered at eight instead of nine," her small voice spoke to me in breathless concern, "Please Dr. Crane, do not be upset with me. I tried as best as I could to keep him from bringing his anger to you, for had he seen you…" There was no way that this was happening to me, my mind swirled as I thought of her waif body blocking her father and also at the idea that it was really anywhere near the hour of eight. It was as if this building was the North Pole, although instead of a few months of darkness it was an eternity. She crumpled back down to my feet and placed one of her hands on the arm of the chair, the other across her eye for I think she knew that it caused unease. Looking over her presentation I wondered if the stitch at the nape of her neck had held fastened, but with a plum colour forming about her neck I assumed that some of the redness staining the back of her blouse was contrived from it.

The blaring of the elevator caused my heart to skip and my chest feel concave. I was not expecting anyone seeing as how I found doubt in the idea that Andrew would make a guest appearance down here twice in the same day. The light bounced off the slightly dusted doors revealing someone I desired to see even less. Lucas stood transfixed in the center of the lift with a gigantic crate on a rolled platform. His grotesque hand lie around the handle, asphyxiating the metal, while his other finger beckoned Eleanor to follow. Her shining hair, what length could manage, flipped out from her head as she turned around to the aging man and then back to me. I loathed that beetle with an intensity befitting icons, for he always seemed to be the one taking her from me, and there he stood, poised in all of his disagreeable fashions and that despicable Burberry trench coat. I felt a burning sensation flee from my hand as she put hers to mine, recoiling the minute she realized what she had done with a bright redness appearing under the bruising, as she told me that she would return as soon as she could to make me tea, for she had a notorious collection and if nothing suited me she could always send out for it. A small smile lay hidden as she walked slowly, with a slight limp to her footing, onto the floor of the lift. Her eyes found their home at the tiles while Lucas just stood there keeping his gaze fixated upon me, not breaking away, even after the doors had closed, … the swine. My eyes stung from the gases in the lab, but as I looked over towards the door I realized that it had shut once it detected the presence of a third party. My body felt exceedingly heavy as I heaved myself to the elevator to wait for it to return so as I could find a proper suit to be seen in outside. The only problem was that I needed Eleanor to call the elevator to me for she had the only key. Or so I thought, for in the hand that was just now feeling relief from the terrible heat of burning was a small set of two eroded keys just like Lucas had used to open the service elevator. I felt the hidden smile release itself to sight, for she was a terribly clever girl, pitiful but quite clever all the same.

It was quite clear to me now that Eleanor had no notion of my plans for the visiting Cardinal, seeing as how she expected me to just be around and about in the anatomy of the Ryan building. I wanted so desperately to make good time in my errands so as I could be back in time to not keep her waiting on me, although that was probably just what she'd be doing even though she had mentioned that her friend was in the hospital. Which struck me as odd for I had no idea of how she could possibly have met anyone when she did not get out and socialize; that and I'm quite positive mob bosses and under world merchants don't count as agreeable acquaintances. The suit that Eleanor had recommended for me matched the storming sky perfectly with all of the depressing greys reflected in the thread and all of the labels perfectly coordinated Hugo Boss. The only change I had made to her choice was that of shoes, for it seemed that in her post apocalyptic haste she hadn't the time to consider the colour of Italian leathers. Besides it would be uncanny to think of wearing Prada with Boss, it would drive my compulsive behaviours to the edge had I known that I was walking about town in disassociated shoes. Nonetheless walking about the over crowded walkways of Gotham were one thing that I could never get used to. Rain was pouring down but there was really no need for an umbrella seeing as how every one around me provided an awning of polyester to shield me from the elements as I continued down Saint Peters Street towards the Roman Catholic cathedral. A mystery this establishment was, for nowhere else in the whole of the city was there a place of worship as notorious for pious corruption as this one, although that did make it the Mecca for all of those lying pigs draped in the resemblance of their lord and saviour. Sickening they were, and I was beside myself with excitement at the idea of being able to toy with a man, not only in town representing that which I hated most, but that also claimed he had no fears under the eye of his lord. Every one of my limbs were twitching with the anticipation of making this man cry out for his god only to realize in his final moments of clear understanding that his god is nothing but a mass hysteria, a farce, a fictitious anomaly. I must have looked ridiculous as I continued down the walk way for this malicious grin of demonic pleasure could not be swept off my face, until collision with another forced my attention back to the present. He was a fair inch taller than I and considerably larger in his build, with waved blonde hair that served as a crown over his brutally scarred mouth. "Crane," he addressed me with a smile of a child caught in surprise, continuing on with an ever so slight lick of his lower lip, "nice suit." I laughed shortly at his teasing of my fashions as the two of us retreated to a doorway so as we would not continue to be bombarded with mindless droves of people rushing around with no place to go. His pale hand was collected about the stems of numerous lavender tulips, quite lovely, and his suit, though not comparable to mine in styling, was exquisitely tailored – no doubt all custom, for that was my best friend's niche. I questioned as to where he was off to with such, uncharacteristically, delicate flowers and he answered me with an uncomfortable, slightly annoyed, expression, "I-I …I'm visiting a friend in the hospital." My brow rose in question, but as intrigued as I was I thought it best to not push the situation, seeing as how he could break me in half if he wanted to – and I still sported a deep desire to get back for tea. He poked at my shoulder playfully and asked why I was in such attire to roam about town in search for something to scare. "I've had the Cardinal Bergemont written down in my book for weeks now," I told him, turning my head so as to get a quick glance of the gothic cathedral, "I thought it best to look presentable for a man of such low qualities." He laughed at me again and rustled my hair like a small boy, by his smile I knew something was array. "Poor Crane," he taunted, "that big crested spawn of the Pope's left nut postponed his sermon until three days from now," what little colour remained in my face dropped out leaving me a cast of a human, "Where have YOU been?" His free hand fell down on my shoulder and then slapped me lightly as he backed out into the raging river of faces, pointing at me comically. Standing there I wondered if the Ryan building ate time as well as souls, and in turn stepped back out into the flow of people, not quite sure how to pass the wasted time.


	11. Chapter 10

I do not own any part of the Batman franchise, just simply a fan with some sort of plan c: I also just wanted to tell you all that this is my first attempt at a FF. I used to have an account on Quizilla, but decided that it was time to put it here as well.

My heart pirouetted in my chest as the doors of the elevator closed, sending Lucas and I plummeting down into the garage. I could not bear the sight of worry that was painted across Dr. Crane's face as his eyes darted from the spots of red on my blouse to the cadet blue collecting beneath the small burn scars. I found myself most happy, however, that it was myself rather than his gorgeous pale face that had absorbed all of this rage. I do not even wish to imagine what his lovely eyes would look like if one of them were encased in a sweater of internal bleeding. I was used to this sort of physical appearance but that did not mean I wished it upon anyone else.

Lucas patted the top of the large wooden crate in the center of the lift to attract my attention to a simple Chanel day dress; a handsome navy blue cinched waist with a romantic finish at the neck, and sheer sleeves complete with structured cuffs. The softness of the fabric clashed with the coarseness of the wood grain, and I knew that it would clash with my now horrid appearance, as the navy would surely bring out the plum colour that I could feel appearing about my neck. Sadness filled my mind, not at my father's rage but for Dr. Crane. I felt completely ashamed for allowing him to see me in such an unladylike manner and so torn away from my customary monotone of pale white, for when he looked into my one eye that could still see his iced gaze I could tell that I had genuinely shocked him. I wished I could apologize, but the thought of being shoved into that heavy steel door, suspended in the fuming air by my father's beast-like hands made me smile with a crazed relief that I did not have to be held aside by his security officer while it was Dr. Crane being seized like a hound and thrown across the table of beakers and flasks, full to their brims with acids and Mercury. My smile grew to the point where Lucas caught sight of it out of the corner of his eye. I could not hide it for it was such a new feeling to be so pleased that my worthless form was thrown across glasses filled with dangerous substances and MY face that was crushed inward, instead of my companion's. Hanging from my father's outstretched hands and being held into the gas fires that sprang up from underneath made a warmth fill my body, not from the heat of the fire, but rather from the notion that the man I found myself _caring_ for was downstairs, safe, in that horribly overdone room and away from the uncontrollable fury that was a change in scheduling.

Lucas helped me change out of my ruined clothes, shaking his head as he tossed them aside and examined my slowly spinning body. "It doesn't look too bad this time around Miss." Although he smiled as he held out the Chanel for me to step into I knew by his tone that I was a sight far worse than the time before. It hurt like being prodded with a branding iron as I raised my arms trying to get the sleeves to their proper places on my shoulders, and when Lucas fastened the buttons that traveled down my back, each one of them found an incision and pressed upon a hidden piece of glass. He patted my shoulders ever so lightly, instructing me to turn about as his hand traveled deep into the Louis Vuitton messenger bag that adorned the side of his trench coat, revealing a small compact of concealer, which was nothing new. I leaned against the wall as he carefully patted the powder into my face, relinquishing pressure around my eye, and then sliding the applicator puff back and forth across my neck to try and disguise the noose like bruise that must have looked like a choker necklace above the navy blue of the collar. I knew that the film of white Lucas was liberally applying would be of negligible effect seeing as how the injury hadn't fully developed its plum and black colour, but I always appreciated the things he did to help me following events like these. After all he and I were delivering this order representing the Ryan Corporation, if the client phoned my father saying I looked like a wretch off the street I would be in for a whole entirely new world of hurt. However that did not occupy my mind at all. I had received a phone call from the hospital earlier this morning saying that Evee had been shot while she was at the bank and was in recovery. I was so worried about my best friend being mortally wounded, and then of Dr. Crane being killed that I did not have any spare worrying brain cells left for myself. Turning to Lucas I asked if we could go by the hospital after we dropped the order. He looked at me, with eyes almost as nocturnal looking as mine, and questioned as to if I thought I was in a serious enough condition that would require a trip to the hospital; I laughed to myself. "Evee is there," immediately after I enlightened him to this his tense expression subsided and the elevator rang out in victory as it finally landed on the basement floor. I helped, to the best of my abilities, to load the crate into the car but I admit I was more of a hindrance, and Lucas opened the back door for me to climb into. My hand caressed the leather of the seat and I found a sense of strange pleasure in the idea that I was on the side of the car that Dr. Crane had been on when I released him, a bit earlier than the police expected, from Arkham. I wondered what he would be up to this fine, storming morning.

As luck would have it the client who placed the order for the 750 liters was a very old business associate of my father's and an old friend, Boss Rupert Thorne.

One look at my futile attempt to hide my father's rage and he understood everything, I did not have to even exhale. He sat behind his large Brazilian wood desk, very charming office furniture indeed, and pushed a small box towards me, as I was perched in the chair across from him to his right. "For you Eleanor," he spoke in his slightly gruff voice, screened by many years of smoking, "I know it has been a quite some time since your last one." His eyes watched my hands as I reached out to pull the small box to my lap. The expression he wore was visibly upset by the deep red gashes that I had collected together with surgical tape (that was luckily NOT pilfered by any kangaroos) to try and reduce the inevitable outcome of scars. I apologized for my appearance but he simply waved his hand from side to side and claimed it was all his fault for requiring that I be finished an hour earlier, and that he acted unforgivably. I smiled lightly as I pulled on the small end of a rather neatly tied bow, only glancing upward as his call-man brought in a cherry wood tea tray laden with a very impressive collection of glasses filled with wine of his own accord. He was a man of expense in that way, but in a more demure fashion, unlike the gotti stylings of my father who most likely would have _demanded_ you drink the spirits he offered you. There were only two glasses upon the tray, one for himself and the other for Lucas. He was my oldest friend, next to Evee, and it was no secret to him that I never accepted alcoholic items, especially in the condition that ailed myself at the moment.

The room was on a higher level of comfort compared to my father's office, and I never once felt a twinge of Claustrophobia build up, like the amount caused by the hideous ivory desk and red walls of the room I was accustomed to. The walls that sheltered his office were a very elegant eggplant, and coordinated well with the dark wood of his Ethan Allen furnishings, which I always adored. His eyes followed my every movement over laced hands as I continued to release the small parcel from its glimmering bondage, excited about receiving something that I did not really deserve. Through my one, still functioning, eye I caught the glitter of small specks of red crinoline encased inside a molded glass sphere that sat a top carved Russian bears, each with one end of the Soviet flag tied to their paws. His face was beaming and I must have looked ridiculous with only half of my face able to curl up into the smile that was trapped inside, the happiness half from the lovely eastern snow globe and half from the fact that Lucas was suspended over the small table that separated us like a squirrel, trying to catch a better glimpse of the small trinket. I was so anxious to see what this one would look like when I placed it on the shelf with all of the others that Boss Thorne had bequeathed to me over the years that he had been a part of my life, the father I should have been given. He cared for me deeply, it was plain enough for anyone to see, even my father, and as I rose to thank him he simply waved his hand again beckoning me to resume my prone position in front of him, "Anything for the best chemist Gotham City has to offer." I became red at his kind words and told him that I must be taking my leave for I had a friend in the hospital. He understood, winking at me in a platonic fashion and turning around in his high backed 'Rajah' chair, as he liked to call it, while Lucas gathered his coat and opened the door for the two of us to pass through. I loved Boss Thorne like no other, and in my mind he_ was_ a father.

Back in the car, Lucas seemed to be in higher spirits for he told me to sit up in the front passenger seat with him so that the valet at the hospital could see that I was in the vehicle. I laughed shortly at his old-fashioned qualms and told him that Gotham General did not have a valet service unless you were seriously hurt, to which he simply replied by pulling down the interior mirror and questioning, in a mock reporter tone, as to how I received such a fantastic black eye. He had a comforting smile as I went to return the mirror to its original place, but it slowly faded as the sorry state of affairs that my hands were in hooked my attention, and turned them over slowly in my lap. They really were disgusting, especially since the white surgical tape now had a muddy colour to it after soaking up all of the stray blood that had continued to pour out from the embedded glass. I only hoped that when I walked through the hospital doors that no one would give me a second thought, so I would be able to make a straight line for Evee in the recovery ward, for that was all I cared about at the moment.

Boss Thorne's home was all the way out in the Palisades, near where the Wayne Manor used to be before Bruce burnt it down, and I always forgot how far away from the city the location actually was. It took ages for the car to even reach the outskirts of the city, and I knew that once I saw the sign for Saint Peters Street that it would be, probably, another twenty minutes before I even saw the light a top the hospital tower. A sigh escaped my lungs as I turned my head to catch a glimpse of the view out from the window – rain, rain, and more rain. Not that I thought it was depressing or anything, rain here is like sunshine in the idea that 356 days out of the year the city is blanketed in a layer of thick overcast. I rather enjoyed the lack of sunlight, due to the fact that I grew up with only the false light of sixty-watt bulbs. Droplets of rain sped past across the glass of the window as Lucas sped up the car to ninety-five miles an hour to try and pass a large semi-truck that had moved to the lane we had been in previously… men. I felt my good eye roll over in my skull as his fingers flexed behind the steering wheel and turned up the volume on the radio. Most of the stations were out due to the strength of the storm, but when he came across the Gotham News I was glad he stayed, for the topic of discussion by the faceless news anchor was most intriguing… not to mention it turned my face green with anxiety as I watched white drain down onto the navy blue ruffle at my neck line. Lucas' slightly more lively colour had fallen from his face too as he turned up the volume with the controls fastened on the reverse of the wheel. Neither of us dared to speak for we knew that if what this man said was true, that he and I were in for a universe of criminal tortures the minute we set foot back on one tile of the basement garage. To think I was already in bad shape as it was. I prayed the Associated Press were liars this day.

"It has come to the knowledge of the Associated Press that Gotham City Police have a suspect in the case of the escape of Dr. Jonathan Crane, also know by his alias 'The Scarecrow,' from Arkham Asylum a few days prior to today," it was in this moment that I hoped there was a God, "Reports say a slender woman had gone into the island fortress claiming to be Dr. Evee Hurst, a prominent Psychologist here in the city, and had convinced guards to let her pass by using said excuse. When questioned about his ideas on the topic, Commissioner Gordon merely replied that with Crane's long history of chemical fascinations that there would be only one feasible guess as to where he would have gone to following his escape," it was in _this_ moment that I realized God was a jackass with a sick sense of humour, "The police commissioner replied that he sought to question the fortune 500 chemical company Ryan Corporation, most specifically he would be asking their scientific and research staff if they had any information as to the where abouts of this most dangerous man, for it was assumed by the Major Crimes Unit that if anyone in the city would be able to help Crane it would be the men and women in that specific field of expertise."

I wanted to cry. I probably would have if not for the excruciating pain that was now pulsating from my out-of-commission eyeball, as I tried to look to Lucas from the corners of my sight. He was in an even worse state than I had assumed for he swerved madly and almost crashed our car into on coming traffic. I tried my best to say what I could to calm him down but nothing seemed to work, he would say he was fine but then swerve and cut off a handful of cars in the lanes adjacent to ours, scaring the green from my face and leaving me a translucent corpse. After all when he and I returned home that is what I would become, for my father would be sure to drain every ounce of blood I had for plasma and lymph storage. I didn't even want to think what would happen to Dr. Crane if my father found him. The only thing my mind could picture was a fate similar to that of the intern that displeased his boss by bringing him the wrong blend of coffee. I have no idea if that poor boy made it through that fall down the sanitarium body chute that dumped into the marsh by the ferry dock, the one that backed up against the reverse side of the building. No one ever questioned the rank scent of rotting flesh due to the fact that the ghettoes surrounding the building smelt like decay no matter what time of year. The squalid shantytowns were a moat that way. I only wished it would be putrid enough to keep the police at bay until I got back.

The hospital corridors only reminded me of the test subject dormitory back in the lab, for each of the rooms I passed by had their doors open to reveal sacks of flesh hooked up to huge iron machines that were ticking like bombs. The smell of iodine and rudder gloves made me nauseas and I longed for the scent of Dr. Crane's Valentino coat. My mind swam in the small delight of remembering just how lovely it was, but delight turned to ash when I remembered that having his jacket covering my bare shoulders only made me long for the feeling of his hands pulling across my skin, the sight of pale fingers sliding across my collarbone and down my chest… good lord!

A swift collision with the ugly wood grain of the door to Evee's room brought me out of my unexpected and untimely sexual fantasy that I really did not understand as to why it manifested itself in such an awkward location. I mean people were dying a few doors away and the only thing I could think about was… oh heavens no. I pushed the door open to see Evee lying in the hideous little bed in that horrid hospital gown, with her arm bandaged up in a sling being kept company by whom else but the billionaire playboy himself, Bruce Wayne. Now Bruce was no stranger to me, we both ran in the same upper class social circle, or at least we did when I managed to be lucky enough to escape. My heart went out to my best friend, as I knew that she must have been waiting for any excuse to get him out of this small room and away from her. Her eyes pleaded with my one decent eye for an out and I had just remembered that a few moments remained to spare for coffee before heading back to the lab to prepare everything for when the police decided to show up. Bruce, in all of his boyish charm, tried to invite himself to join us, so as to get more opportunities to be Evee's shoulder to cry on, but the two of us eventually convinced him otherwise, although I was not too thrilled at the fact that I had to bring up my inability to bear children to relinquish ourselves of him.

Evee's sudden laughter following Bruce's swift exit caught me by surprise and I jumped like a hand-shy puppy, just as pitiful too. Her smile turned to a slight frown as I surrendered the clothes that I had purchased for her on the way. I really wanted very much to join her for coffee, but if the building was preparing for attack I knew that the best place for me to be was on the inside braving the apocalyptic rage of my father personally, rather than being hunted by the series of hit men that would no doubt be after me if Commissioner Gordon tried to get to the center of the maze, only to be greeted by the minotaur himself, and become the newest edition to my family of sub-human spawns. Not only was I now petrified for Dr. Crane but I was also prematurely grieving for the, exceptionally kind, police commissioner who had no idea as to what he was getting himself into. The only advice I had at the moment was for him to be sure he brought some golden thread, for without it there was no way he was getting out.

I walked with Evee to the coffee shop down the street a few blocks, where she got a frappuchino and I ordered a tea, for I did not want anything to heavy to be my last meal. When we sat down at a small table in a secluded corner under the collection of cups for sale the subject of men came about and I could not keep my lips buttoned about Dr. Crane, but as soon as I mentioned his name I felt a guilt cloud my unhindered eye. It was as though I had betrayed his trust, seeing as how the fewer people that knew he was staying with me the better, but Evee was my best friend, surely she would not give my secret up to the police. She smiled curiously as she told me about a man she had met named Jack and how she harboured a keen interest in him, for he was dangerously attractive. Happiness broke through the guilt and I wondered just who this mystery man was that had my lovely friend so enthralled, but unfortunately it would have to wait. Lucas had followed the two of us down the street and was waving to me frantically through the window at the front of the shop. My brow rose in suspicion as his behaviour on the walkway only confirmed my previous notion that he should be committed to Arkham, but when a parade of police cars stormed by I immediately knew that time was of the essence. Reluctantly I excused myself as Evee finally noticed the condition I was in. "Eleanor what on Earth happened?" Her voice was strong and not without concern. I felt poorly for being so impolite as to leave our date early but I knew that the situation on the home front was getting worse with every passing second. "Do forgive me Evee," I said smiling to her with only half of my mouth still able to curl upward, "it turns out I have to work late again tonight."


	12. Chapter 11

I do not own any part of the Batman franchise, just simply a fan with some sort of plan c:

Never before had I been so thankful for the back entrance.

The police had parked all of their cars along the front façade of the building, never too careful to attract the attentions of the poor ghetto dwellers that only ever feared the blare of the siren, personifying the noise by bestowing upon it the body of a Cyclops. I had never once seen so many men in blue uniform crowded about the heavy doors, and I knew they were only the first troop of Hoplite warriors. If Gordon made any sound into his two way there would be an onslaught of armed navy pounding against the foundations like Agamemnon's last brigade. The situation was definitely not one of ease.

Lucas opened the door for me to exit and when he did I longed for Evee and that ridiculously pitiful cup of tea. Three of my father's security surrounded the two of us, trapping ourselves in a semi-circle of brawn, demanding we follow suit OR ELSE. Their large arms separated Lucas from me and I felt like I was being carted away. My hand leapt out from the barrier of flesh to try and secure that of my driver but it was a futile attempt for the barbaric collections of testosterone had me suspended like a lamb by my sore arms and onto the lift in one quick motion, much sprightlier than I imagined these boulders were capable of. All the same, the horrid unusually bright lights of the elevator seared my skin while one of the guards pinned me to the tile floor, with all of his weight crushing on my shoulders, as the other pulled a small bottle from his left pocket, his lips curled maliciously. I knew what this was, and as soon as the image flipped right side up on the silver screen of my mind I could not control the convulsions that fear had programmed into my limbs. To any visitor from the outside regions it would look like a bottle of saline tears, not a big deal at all, but when you live inside these walls that little plastic bottle becomes one of the worst things that could possibly be held about your head. Sure they were eye droplets but encased in the molecular structure were selective additives that would absorb the putrid colours of my left eye with every possible ounce of pain. Most of the time this solution was locked away in the lab's sub-zero storage chamber, for it was rather expensive to manufacture, but today was a new day; and a short gasp escaped my mouth as the guard's knees continued to cut into my shoulders, his two index fingers brutally pulling apart my swollen lids and laughing as the yellow chemical splashed against my fragile eye. The one fall back besides the excruciating pain was the fact that it also dilated one's pupil for an hour, or at least that was what I was able to gather from the tests performed on patient A78K4-2, better known as the past executive of the First Bank of Gotham. Which of course meant that although the diseased colour would be gone my eye would still be out of commission and my depth perception would be less than zero.

The guards laughed to themselves as if I was deaf and when the doors opened on the interviewing floor, their meaty arms laced around my waist and tossed me from the quickly closing doors, into a group of policemen who were enjoying the coffee and sweets that made their permanent residence in this, the larynx of the building. Their eyes burned down upon me from under their officer's hats as I tried to heave myself from the ground with only one arm, the other one serving as a patch; for although the colour had vanished I was now stricken with an eye devoid of white – a black marble lodged into my skull. I did not wish to frighten them into thinking I was in the premature stages of de-evolution, so when the portly one on the right bent over to help me I kept my eyes fixated upon a crumb that had, no doubt, been unfortunately thrown out of its own elevator. He questioned as if I was alright to which I humbly replied yes, even though all of them could see that I was clearly not for the hand that met their eye level was the worse of the two I had to offer. The officer that stood parallel to my own form was almost a head taller then me but also comparably thin, with a face that could probably give my demonic eye a run for its money in the contest of frightening children. As I scanned his chest for a name badge I found a gleam of silver that introduced him to me as 'Greene.' The voice that groped his tongue was coarse and not in the least bit affluent as it passed under his yellowing teeth, "You a Miss…" he flipped through his pocket notebook holding it in his left hand that boasted only four fingers, "Eleanor Ryan?" I nodded a polite yes, for my voice cowered in the back of my throat at the presence of this ugly man, and with a bit of encouragement the portly officer led me, in a gentlemanly manner, to the door of the largest interviewing salon we hosted in the building. I appreciated his chivalry and told him so as he opened the door and allowed me to pass through into the darkness of the room beyond. It seemed a few knights still remained in the regiment.

When my sight fell on the commissioner I knew that a small smile had appeared about my lips, for he mirrored it with one of his own, waving his hand, inviting me to sit down in the leather chaise across from him. Indeed he had selected the most exquisite salon on the floor, not too utilitarian and not too ornate. I must say that I was quite proud and mentally applauded this Everyman for his fine taste and gentleman behaviours.

His thick-rimmed glasses framed those slightly sad eyes that were poised in the center of his handsomely aged face, his peppered hair and moustache just adding to his policeman image. I subdued a petite laugh that formed from the image of placing an English Bobby's helmet a top his head and parading him around White Chapel searching desperately for Jack the Ripper. He really would have fit into that scenario well seeing as how trying to catch a ghost like Ripper perfectly emulated his search for 'The Scarecrow.' After all it was my responsibility to look after Dr. Crane and I would be damned if this elder fellow who sat a part from me received any information, be he an officer of the law or not.

Giving vague answers was a common skill taught to the scientists made recluse by these thick walls and steel doors; it came right after the elementary periodic table. So this pseudo interrogation by a simple police commissioner was nothing to be nervous over. I had talked to animals with more power than he had, so that stern stare he was employing to try and sway me from silence was being shown to the wrong girl. His hands folded over a number of times as he laid them to rest in his lap. I felt a sense of pity for him, for a glint of metal flashed from his left ring finger and I knew that he wanted to be here about as much as I, only I was without a spouse to go home to. This idea of he and his wife living happily ever after made my heart twitch. In this building there were no happy endings, only endings, plain and simple. If I had not read about it the slight feeling of jealousy would have been mistaken for another. It was not as though I was alone. I did have Lucas, and even though he was my driver I certainly counted him as a companion. If my hand had not been shielding my eye from Gordon's continued barrage of glares I would have imagined my finger to be graced with a ring like his. For once I would like to know what it feels like to belong to someone who actually desires your company. Just once, if only for a moment, simply to have the luxury of being lifeless and know that another was devastated for the loss.

A suggested cough gathered my attention as Gordon leaned forward, allowing his head to be all the closer to mine, which I did not think, was really necessary. His eyes wandered about his nose and eyebrows as his mind continued to run through that mysterious imaginary back alleyway. "Miss Ryan I assume?" He was calm to the point where I knew that this little sitting would not end politely and waited for my nod of justification, "yes, well, that's lovely. Things can go a bit smoother now don't you think?" Again I answered his question with a feeble nod as my head burnt from the yellow chemical that was running down the back of my socket and into my throat, for the pain was so great I could taste it.

The man's height shifted uneasily on the chaise as he re-crossed his legs, never taking his eyes from the brutally carved openings in my flesh. Although inquisitive they also showed a concern that had been foreign to all other men who had the displeasure of a question and answer session with me previously. It was then I decided that the polite thing to do would be to at least help him a bit; in this case I was going to help him make it out of here alive. For at that moment I knew my father had his fat finger hovering above the red button underneath his desk, just itching to shove it inwards and trap these officers like rats. After all, people had not been interviewing for jobs here as of late.

"Miss…would it be possible to gather all of the research and development staff in here with us? I just have a fe," I did feel sadness at my rude behavior but surely he must have known that no more than one person has ever worked in research and development throughout the entire history of Ryan, and I told him so. Immediately following however I wished that I had just kept my mouth shut. His eyes got wide and he stood aloft, stroking his moustache as he bounced up and down on the heels of his slightly worn shoes. It was shocking to see him standing in this room with me, and quite remarkable for the crotchety man at the desk, all the way downstairs, was told to never let anyone into the elevator with shoes that looked any older than a few months. Never mind however, for his stare became slightly enraged, although it did not show in his tone, and it would have been obvious to anyone that he did not rightly believe what I had said for the question presented itself three more times, to which I replied that I was the only scientist employed by Ryan each and every time with the same polite flair. His steps changed as he carried himself around the stout coffee table and sat on it so as to position himself no more than a foot away from me. I admit that with his proximity my anxiety had found a new outlet, or was trying desperately to make one, for my eye was pulsating so ferociously that I half expected it to pop out into my palm, allowing for my nervous shaking to escape like vapor into the air space. My stomach was churning counter clockwise as I watched, frozen, his hand rise and fall on my knee. I was sure that he meant no harm by it, for he seemed a decent enough personality, but a shock wave of putrid waste climbed upward on the rungs of my esophagus and I feared that I might spit acid all over his nicely worn coat. I did not wish to do such an uncivilized action, so my free hand instinctively snaked around my throat, aligning with the evidence of my father's grip, to try its best to prevent the biohazardous wonder. I felt his smile illuminate my now ridiculous appearance as his voice lowered to a mere whisper, "Miss Ryan, there is something I have to ask you. It might not be the easiest of questions but I assure you it is of the utmost urgency." My gaze shifted to every point on his profile as my one eye that still held its ability to see no doubt looked possessed. I was afraid that he might ask me the very question I expected since the newscast in the car; this unease had never affected me before, but I suppose then again I never had to lie for anyone quite like _him_. I watched as his chest rose and fell, his grip on my knee slowly getting tighter.

"I have reason to believe that you are hiding a dangerous criminal somewhere within _these_ walls!" The constriction in my leg took all of the focus away from my soulless eyeball and both of my hands released their holds, in unison, and clasped around the wrist of the police commissioner who I had sorely misinterpreted. "Please sir, you would do yourself proper to unhand me," I was never good with emotional intelligence. All I could think about was getting his vice fingers away from my already wounded leg before he caused any more damage, seeing as how the surgeon at Boss Thorne's house said my leg could only be repaired so many times. But as the commissioner's strangle became more serious my mind went blank and I did not know what to do except for to keep my gaze permanently fixed to his white knuckles, as to avoid him getting a full view of my night-glazed eye. He was not a scientist, he wouldn't understand what was going on at the cellular level, so why bother showing him? It would only throw the situation further into the rabbit hole.

It was quite obvious that I was going to have another bruise to add to my newest collection but that did not concern me for as I continued to try and pull his hands away from me his wrists curled about, tying his stubbed fingers around the width of my wrists and sending my body into a full panic mode. For a fair minute I half expected metal shutters to fold down over all of my orifices. I could feel the man's eyes stab into my averted face with an overbearing sense of desperation that flew from his mouth with every minor exhale. This was definitely not with any ends that could turn out for the better. I only hoped that Dr. Crane had been stalled up wherever he was and that he would be incredibly late on his return.

My wrists were imprisoned so tightly in his flesh turnicates, that the pure white of my hand was beginning to surrender to the god-awful colour of low blood supply as I tried with the utmost of will power to slow my breathing as his became more rapid. Patience was wearing thin in this man, that was made undoubtedly obvious by his dragging my thin frame upward towards the waffled ceiling of the salon, holding me aloft by my wrists so as I could dangle there until my hands popped off and I fell to the floor an appendage-less mess. "You're hiding him in here and I _know_ it!" he spat at me as I continued to stare at his less than spectacular tie, "Miss Ryan do you _understand_ what kind of trouble you're in here?" Of course I did, and frankly his question of my intelligence was a scof of rage that fit ever so perfectly along the immature lines of a spoiled child. I watched helplessly as my long fingers curled inward with thirst and Gordon continued to harass me about something that he was not going to receive an answer for. I tried my best to keep my face as stoic as humanly possible while the commissioner shook my curled arms back and forth from his, surprisingly strong, upper body, but when I heard a subtle rumbling feed up from the vertebrae below us I knew my heart had given me away. A wicked grin had crossed Gordon's mustached lips as his right hand released me and grabbed his two way. "Stand by boys, looks like we have a guest," he ordered ever so calmly, but when he returned the device to its holster I wished that his free hand would have returned to my throbbing wrist. For instead he brought it upwards, ever so slothly, to my cheek, turning my face to meet his savage glare. "Now now, there there dear girl, in a minute I won't need you to tell me what I will be able to see for mys… DEAR GOD IN HEAVEN!" My ears longed for the protection of my palms as his voice scattered into a prepubescent yelp having caught a glimpse of my dilated eye. I would not have given his fear a second thought had it not been for the portly officer opening the door to relay the news that the elevator was stopping on our floor in an estimated two seconds; with _that_ little bit of happy news… Eleanor you have lost all contact with restraint – cue paranoia overflow in T minus ten, nine, eight…

My tiny skeleton began to thrash ferociously, with its own regards mind you, causing Gordon's vice grip to tighten and his brow to furrow with excitement. "Now Miss, resisting won't do you any favours at this point. We have you and your crazy _boyfriend_ right where we wanted you to begin with," his eyes glistened with an intoxicated lust for a victory over evil while the hand that had pushed my face towards the ceiling now pulled my eyelids apart, allowing his examination of what he did not understand to go in a smoother fashion, "did _**he**_ do this to you?" My heart fell from my chest and landed with a splat on the hardwood boards beneath us, for never in my life had I ever fanticized about anything as foreign as a "boyfriend" and I did not rightly understand the term. Surely Dr. Crane was nothing of the sort. But for some reason when the words left the shaded mouth of the enraged man taking a tighter hold of me my mind spun and I had forgotten all about being stoic. Gosh darn these nebulous "emotions"!

"Dr. Crane would never do anything of the sort!"

Immediately following this statement of pathetic fondness the elevator alarm whistled and opened its doors to push the passenger out of its safe embrace. Gordon turned the two of us around so his back was facing the door and inched towards the opening to catch a better view of what he so desperately hoped to see. I wished that I had pilfered those eye drops from the security, for blinding this ill-tempered man was at the top of my list of escape routes. The commissioner's overly hot hand swept over my mouth as he peered around the wall and out into the corridor, bobbing up and down on his heels as the anticipation escalated. I could not bring myself to look and wished that my eyelids could be sewn shut, that is until his voice peaked my curiosity and resuscitated my limp heart to jump from the floor boards back into my chest, 'No,' was all that scanned across the marquee behind my retinas.

"Eleanor?" Dear god why did he have to bring himself to _this_ floor? His voice was a bit skittish and I could not blame him, after all he was a wanted man in a maze crawling with police officers. The up and down motion of Gordon's body caused a motion sickness to cringe in my stomach and I was slightly thankful when he shoved me into the wall and spun around out into the hallway, demanding that Dr. Crane surrender himself to the law before he was to be taken by force. What was I going to do now? I only knew how to lie to policemen; I didn't know how to get rid of them! And now they were going to try, with all forces of effort, to take this man, whom I was responsible for, away from me. My mind raced about like a merry-go-round as my one healthy eye scanned the room for anything that could help me out of this pit of Hell, but the solution could not come quick enough for the clicking sound of handcuffs permeated the air space and sliced the scarred side of my head like a collection of piano wires. … PIANO WIRES!

I practically floated across the floor to the far side of the room where the antique grand piano sat, encased in orange light, and carefully tore out a wire from under the lid. The coarse metal cut open the sections on my fingers but I could have cared less at that point. I had this strange feeling of invincibility and was even more thrilled when I caught a glimpse of the hideous baroque statue my father had been given as a gift. It was a solid granite cylindrical structure no taller than eleven inches, but it weighed a considerable amount for a thing so small. It was perfect. My left hand constricted the stone as I stepped over the threshold, silently and swiftly, sneaking up behind Gordon and introducing the rear of his cranium to this disgusting German antiquity. However I have no idea what I was thinking, for in my mind after I hit him I expected him to just fall over, but instead he stumbled forward towards the portly officer, who was standing aside the frightening one, and the two of them crashed into each other, crumpling in a pile of fabric and flesh. This was an entirely new concept, these mindless acts of violence.

Dr. Crane's eyes were wide with disbelief and I would have joined him if not for the fact that a crimson foil veiled my eyesight, and all I felt a desire to do was to make sure that he escaped in one piece. Officer Greene, who had his back to me securing the handcuffs much to coarsely, be not even keen to the commotion that surrounded him. His face curled into one of the most sadistic grins I could have possibly imagined. It reflected in the pupils of Dr. Crane's shocked eyes, and stayed fixed to his face permanently as I flipped the wire over the crown his head and pulled it towards me, pushing my knee into the man's scooped back as to be my very own form of devilish insurance as to the flawless lacerating of his esophagus and spinal column. Everything had happened much too quickly for there to be any post-act feelings, well except relief that Dr. Crane was going to be safe. But then again that was all that mattered.

Speaking of the man I was trying so hard to take care of, his suit was ruined with blood seeping into the thread and only one of his wrists was contained in the silver metal of the handcuffs. A slight smile crept to my face knowing that he wasn't going to be taken away from me, and I watched intently as his cuffed hand took hold of his glasses, removing them and rubbing the lenses on his already ruined Hugo Boss. His eyes collected together, blinking a few times after their shielding was returned, and he took out a small handkerchief from his inside pocket to wipe the drips of police blood from his face. He was still so handsome even when disguised in the most satanic of substances, and I wished that my face were covered in the same way for it might have been able to disguise the blush that washed over me. His gaze darted across my blackened eyeball and then down to the nearly decapitated man on the floor between us, the one bestowed with a fantastic metal bowtie. "Not bad," was all the he said, in an exhausted whisper, as he kicked the body over and removed his soiled jacket, throwing it on top of the dead man to conceal his fate. I was so happy but so nervous as to what he would say next, for killing officers of the law isn't exactly in the handbook for the proper lady, but it seemed silence returned to the two of us and when Gordon and the portly officer had untangled themselves I took hold of Dr. Crane's uncuffed wrist and the two of us were down in the garage, climbing into the car and driving away undetected, right under the nose of Gotham's finest.


	13. Chapter 12

I do not own any part of the Batman franchise, just simply a fan with some sort of plan c:

This is a switch back to Crane's narrative c: So Please Enjoy! 3

It seems disbelief was going to be another member of the ghostly group that followed Eleanor and I around, joining together with an awkward silence and a lack of conversation.

The whole lot of us were shoved into the car by an exceptionally swift Lucas and instead of taking the rear way out, as I assumed he was accustomed to, he simply drove out of the front gate and past all of the empty police cars lined around the perimeter of the building like a heavy metal garter. It was quite a feat that every car should be unoccupied, but then with a bit of thought it made sense that every available officer would be inside, under Gordon's orders, trying to sift through Ryan's central nervous system until they got to the very top, which would be just an oh so special appointment with the boss himself. This simple thought pulled my face into the most malicious of grins, dried blood cracking off the spaces that I suppose I had missed in the rushed haze following the death of the owner of the plasmids. My eyes wandered down the front of my horribly ruined shirt with a certain sense of sadness, I did feel a bit guilty that such a fine piece of fashion was now nothing better than a surgeon's gown, comparable to the ones hanging up on the right side of the door before one entered the subject hold. What a curious joy I found in the thought of the police trying to free those creatures, only to be eaten alive while the being with the scarred mouth tore out Gordon's wretched eyes. Yes indeed, that would be a rather fitting display of satanic theatre. How lovely to think that roses would be thrown to the feet of a soulless patient wrapped in a strait jacket of its own epidermis. It was quite a romantic thought actually, truly avant-garde.

The loss of light from the heavy cumulonimbus made the streets surrounding the vehicle look identical to the same scenes that circled about me as I traveled through them the very first night I met my companion. Destitution ran wild, with every cornerstone ramshackle home plastered with the large eyes of dirty people and the hungry groans of, now wild, dogs and who knows what else. Although slightly lighter in colour, the thick haze still clung to the dirt road as Lucas continued to drive at an annoyingly slow pace towards the outskirts of this Rhineland military zone. Not until he came to a complete stop did I realize what had caused his hideous display of driving capabilities, which had been tempting me to simply replace his plasminogen with a nice jellied substance, for I _did_ possess the tools necessary for the procedure at my feet behind his chair. It really would not have been too difficult either, just a little poke, with a slightly larger hypodermic needle for sadistic pleasure, and viola! Three hundred milliliters of gelatin liquid, containing my toxin no less, right into that throbbing vein adorning the side of his grotesque neck. And then I could finally be rid of this nuisance that had told me to go to the interviewing floor, no doubt so he could try to get me arrested and therefore attempt to regain his previous title as advisor. Men like him were only too easy to predict. I assumed he had been the one to tip off Gordon about Eleanor too, it was sickening. I watched as his fat fingers strangled the door handle while he exited, bringing himself to the other side of the car with frequent glances over his shoulder, probably scanning for Gordon making sure he had driven slow enough for the man to catch up, and released the passenger door so that Eleanor could get out. My eyes followed as her body extended to full height and she smoothed the fabric of her skirt. I could not help myself but to be hypnotized by the swinging motion of her hands, cased by dried crimson, as they pulled a final time across her Prada and then over to Lucas who had mystically retrieved a rather small amber bottle that bore no label. A Ryan Corporation original I presumed, for there was no mistake about how painful it must have been as a toxic black flowed from the mouth of the bottle, like alcoholic vomit, and into her outstretched palms, running through her fingers and vaporizing upon contact with the dusted ground. Pain must have been essential to the healing process according to the chemical manufacturer, for it was the only emotion that could twist her face into such an ugly mess, not to mention that with the edition of such tar to her hands, her eye seemed to ascend to a deeper black only reserved for vampires or cave dwellers.

My curiosity leapt out and sat like an eager child in the driver's seat, watching Eleanor and Lucas as I did, while the two of them rounded the back of the car and approached a hunched over man hidden beneath a thick cloak of tattered… what looked to be alligator skin. The window was down slightly so it was no problem overhearing the conversation between such beauty and such a beast. The girl's body kneeled so that she might be eye level with the massive thing that still towered over her, even though he was clearly prone.

"Have you what I asked you to hold for me Waylon?" She asked the man in her soft, barely audible voice. Waylon… where have I heard that name before? This itch of recall was going to annoy me worse than Lucas'… well everything about Lucas as I picked my brain for anything that might give me a clue as to why his name sounded so familiar, and then it dawned on me. His head lifted and swallowed Eleanor's small body in its shadow. It wasn't alligator skin he was blanketed by, but the texture of his very own skin, rough and jagged bits of scaled disease. His eyes were yellowed and his pupils slit like those of a reptilian nature. Everything about him was unnerving but each one of his animal characteristics were tied together by his randomly sized teeth that he had, without question, filed to points via his own accord. It was now obvious why his name rang a bell, for he was Waylon Jones, or Gotham's mutant Killer Croc as he was most likely more commonly known. I had him as a patient once, trying to work with his fear of bats, but when it became obvious that his sorrow could be used to my advantage I decided that he would be better suited to serve as a carrier for fear toxin, carting it about the city and infecting people with it as he saw fit. I had hoped that he would have encountered the Batman by now, but from the looks of it he was more along the lines of muscle for hire than career criminal. It was of no loss however for I longed to know how he would be acquainted with someone like Eleanor, although she did seem to know a lot more people than I had given her credit for.

"Indeed Miz," he whispered in his hoarse voice that ended with a slight hiss, "dangerous time to be out and about though, Gordon sure has it out fer ya' and yer _friend_ there." I swallowed although I am not sure as to why anxiety would cause me to be worried of his intentions. He nodded his massive head to me which caused Eleanor to turn and glance over her shoulder, her quick shy smile – now that was what brought about the onslaught of anxiety, even though I did not wish for her to turn back to her conversation with the massive lab animal. My child of curiosity smashed his face against the window of the driver's seat, bringing my attention to a rather arduous wooden crate that rivaled the one that was in the elevator this morning. Lucas strained to push the box to the rear of the car which I found extremely humorous, but my desire to laugh was stifled when Eleanor opened the door adjacent to myself and leaned downward, pointing to a steel case that was seated at the floor on her side. I knew what was in it, hell anyone with half a brain would know, and I noticed her face turn a rare shade of pink as she shut the door, careful not to make any sound, and returned to hand the case over to the crocodile. She had leaned in towards the man a great deal so eavesdropping on their conversation became impossible and jealousy seemed to want to join in with every other ardor that was already in place. He grabbed hold of the case with his prehistoric claws like it was a piece of parchment and tipped his invisible hat to the lady. How charming, the thought crossed my mind sarcastically, as the car shook from the force of the trunk closing. A cool breeze permeated the car as the door was released and Eleanor reclaimed her assigned spot beside me. "What did you buy?" I inquired while pretending to adjust my tie so that she might not become keen to my intrigue. She blushed heavily, pink turning to scarlet, as if she did not expect me to ask. Her brutally battled right hand crept away to the pocket of her sweater, which was covering her lap, and retrieved a slightly larger amber bottle. It looked ancient, like something one would find in an eighteenth century doctor's bag, as she shyly surrendered it to me. Without thinking I turned it over in my palm searching for a label that I knew would not be there.

"A gift," she said, her voice slightly above a dog whistle as I shifted to look over to her while she turned to look out of the window, "Do forgive me Dr. Crane, for I did not even think to get you a welcoming present until now." Shock filled me and I admit I was rather curious as to what it was, so I unfastened the bottle and poured a yellow powder into my fanned palm. My mind raced through its rolodex of chemical substances for an image of what was rolling along my skin, and when the interior lights came on, due to Lucas' untimely entrance back to the driver's seat, the yellow faded away to a grey, giving away the substance immediately. A small smile appeared under the dried red as I turned over my hand to let the grey pebbles fall down the chair and attach themselves to Lucas' hideous Burberry. Silver Iodide. It was quite the gesture, although I wondered how this woman would be so clever as to know why, if any reason, I would find a need for the substance. I looked back to her slender form resting against the leather, her eyes fixed on the view out of the glass – which was now a blur of greys, greens, and black as we exited the ghettoes, making our way out of the metropolis area of the city. Fondness, curse that nebulous emotion, made my heart relieved that her eyelids found each other in rest for it was quite astonishing that she would be so calm after having been a centimeter short of removing a man from his head. Her collarbone seemed to protrude even more so than when I had noticed before and her rib cage contortioned with exhale, but still I found her to be lovely. And in the final moments before she fell out of consciousness her small voice left me with a memento to ponder as we continued to wherever we were headed.

"Think of it as an assistant to your campaign of raining _fear_ on Gotham's parade."

Time seemed to pass like molasses mixed with sleet, as in not at all, because for the rest of the car trip the only thing I had to keep my attention was Lucas' mindless attempts at conversation. Needless to say I had zero trust in the man so why even bother to be civil and humour his less than intelligent questioning? The view outside was not much more than a rough pastel of anvils as the natural sunlight disappeared below the equator leaving Gotham wrapped in night, and wherever the three of us were too. I contemplated changing clothes, but then I realized that I hadn't any, which annoyed me to no end. Not only did the driver continue to babble on and on about Gotham being a hellhole but in addition to that grievance I was also without presentable attire. Goodness, was it really so difficult to pack before escaping?

I thought about waking Eleanor up for a few seconds but as the car jolted to a stop it was considerably obvious that would not be necessary, for she wasn't wearing a harness and flew off the leather and into the back of the front passenger seat. The whole thing was rather comical but when the open wound on the back of her neck caught my eye I knew laughing would be extremely rude. She turned her head ever so slightly, bright pink, and passed her thin fingers over the cut. Her eye had finally gotten back some of its natural colouring, but there was no way that it could have passed as a normal human eyeball. In a way, it was quite enchanting, and I found myself subconsciously holding out my hand to help her from the floor, but it was lucky for the two of us that she did not except the gesture, less we both end up encompassed by violent shades of red.

The night air was cold when the two of us stepped out from the car, myself watching and trying desperately not to laugh out loud as Lucas struggled to remove Eleanor's gift from the trunk. In my opinion it was exactly what he deserved for purposely sending me to the floor where the police had set up their strong hold in a feeble attempt to get rid of me. He had no idea that I harboured no intentions of leaving any time soon, but that I was working out a plan to rid Eleanor and I of his undesirable company. "After you Dr. Crane," she encouraged as the two of us stood on the first step of a stair case made up of nine perfectly even ledges, leading up to a door that would have been better suited for a cathedral, as opposed to a house. The façade of the grand structure was riddled with gargoyles and alcoves where angels hid from the demons, as tall windows encased in wrought iron bars soared high into the night sky. I assumed that the windows were designed to drink up as much moonlight as possible, but lately that had been a meaningless task for certain, and I was wondering if the windows were going to be fired for not accomplishing their task. Apart from the two large windows there was a severe lack of openings in the thick stone walls that surrounded the inner sanctum of wherever we happened to have ended up in this, our sanctuary from the canine squads now scowering the ghetto territory for the two 'dangerous' scientists on the loose. Ha, the media in this city were utterly ridiculous and completely obsessed with the concept of yellow journalism.

Eleanor laced her thin fingers around a weathered old rope that hung from who knows where, up in the rafters, next to the left side of the gargantuan medieval wooden door that served as the main gate for this castle, quite literally, on the outskirts of town. I assumed that Lucas had taken us all the way out to the Palisades, near where that scourge, who took back his grant when he realized that I had shot a flower vase, burnt down his family's house. I hated my family too, but seriously I'm sure he ruined every single one of his materialistic accoutrements, what a pity entirely.

I watched as it took all of Eleanor's weight, which was quite a feat, to pull down on the rope in order to ring the bell that it was secured to, no doubt in one of the towers that was hidden up in the stratosphere somewhere, decorated with dendrites of all shapes and sizes. I asked the girl if she was all right seeing as how it seemed that she had forgotten all about her open sores, which had been covered in a black tar, until post-rope pull. She claimed that she was fine but it was simple to recognize the wincing her eyes displayed as she open and closed her hands into fists trying to subdue the burning caused by the dirt from the fibers of the ancient rope. My hand rolled around the amber bottle of Silver Iodide that was lounging in my pocket. I wanted desperately to pull her hands out in mine and pour the yellow powder generously across her infectious cuts, after all it was an antiseptic as well as a cloud seeding condensation nuclei so it would have worked. But alas I have yet to break free from the cage of sheepishness that encircles me like an underwater cell from doing outlandish things like taking hold of her without warning, anyone else would have been fine but not her. And as I continued to glance up and down her height I found that the only thought my mind possessed was one concerning sewing her up like a doll, which psychologically speaking was definitely not the healthiest of behaviour patterns to have, especially when it concerned your companion. But that was an assessment that would probably be better thought out at a later moment seeing as my attention was ripped from her mangled body by the sharp metallic snap of the many locks that barred the door as they shifted left and right, opening the slightly smaller door that was centered in the middle of the left hand side of the large gate. I felt myself become slack-jawed at the sight of who just so happened to greet us at, what I now assumed to be his house.

Now Rupert Thorne, in all his glory, was not as distasteful as his competitors, but he did have the same sliminess that secreted from the other men, like Falconi and Maroni. He was taller than I had pictured him and definitely just as large, with black hair that was pushed back in the most disturbing of ways, but then again that seemed to be a common hairstyle among bosses of their profession. His shoulders were broad and hidden under a fantastic Armani dressing gown, which I admit I thought it was a bit to early in the evening to be wearing, and his face was adorned with a mask of stoicism while his brain took a few seconds to register who he saw darkening his door way. It was no secret that Thorne had been a long time client and personal confidant to Ryan, but for Lucas to take us to him directly definitely caused a brow to raise. Nervousness began to boil at my feet as he glanced over a snickering frown from my blood ridden Hugo Boss shirt to Eleanor's slightly blackened pupil, then to Lucas who was trying to heave the crate from the driveway onto the first of the stairs below. But when the driver let out a much desired cry of pain the man smiled evilly and pulled Eleanor into quite the massive embrace, which I was worried might break her in two if I did not notice the most subtle of smiles come across her white lips, in desperate need of moisture… oh dear lord please _do not_ allow the Marquis to re-enter my brain. Especially not when I'm going to be staying in the home of the closest thing she had to a parent. I could already tell that this evening was going to be something to recall.

Inside the house was a completely different world. It was as though we had been transported back to when homes were crafted over countless years and owned by only one family. I admit it was a rather tasteful home, compared to his competitors who were very much like Andrew Ryan in ways of trying to show off their expensive tendencies. It was greatly appreciated by Lucas when Thorne ordered one of his henchmen to aid him in bringing the heavy crate inside, and I found a small laugh could not be held in any longer when the driver's face dropped as he was commanded to take the gift upstairs. My hysteria attracted the attention of the boss and he extended his hand out to meet me in a formal gentleman's greeting, which again I found rather refreshing.

"You must be Dr. Crane," he said, his voice clouded by years of smoking, "It's quite the pleasure to finally make _your_ acquaintance," I watched as his eyes traveled down my chest and took in every splash of blood that had soaked in over the past few hours, "Hugo Boss hmm? …Good man." The need to apologize for my rather horrid appearance flooded into my mouth but was dissipated by Eleanor, who took it upon herself to explain what had happened and why, exactly, the two of us looked the way we did. The man's face twisted with shock and then, if I'm not mistaken, a sense of pride as he ruffled my companion's hair with a hand much larger than her head. He said that he had heard everything on the news earlier this afternoon and understood that sometimes killing a cop is a necessary evil. Not to worry he enlightened us, and offered to allow us to change for dinner, which the two of us were most grateful for. However before I could take a single step up the staircase Thorne motioned for me to join him in the study, built to the left of the foyer, for a light evening flask. This would be most interesting.

The study was inordinately large, with shelves that climbed to embrace the vaulted ceilings and stretch to accommodate the rolling ladders that flanked both sides of the door, to travel and meet in the middle by a rather large portrait of the boss himself. In this case of taste in art he and Andrew were twins. I watched as he kindly invited me to sit beside him in a beautiful leather chair, that boasted seventeenth century riveting, and watched as his large hands circled around the neck of a Waterford brandy flute. I did find a bit of distaste in having such an item before eight but I assumed that this was not the proper time to be refusing a gesture of hospitality.

His giant height became more reasonable as he took his place in the seat across from my own and watched me over the rim of his glass. I knew what he was doing; all of these bosses were the same. Anxiety caused me to shift nervously in the chair, although I did try my best to avoid showing any sign of unease, as it would only satisfy his desire to be intimidating.

"Jonathan, you don't mind if I call you that I assume?" I nodded and he continued, "It is quite the occasion that brings you to me this evening, quite the occasion indeed. I admit when Lucas phoned and said that Eleanor was in a bit of trouble with Gordon I had no idea that she would show up at my door with Gotham's fabled master of fear." Well in that case that made two of us, because _I_ had no idea that I would have been standing at his front door either. He inhaled deeply before continuing, although I really wished I could go and change my clothes, for the dried blood flaked off every time I moved. "I remember hearing in the broadcast that you had been released from Arkham by a tall woman, and immediately I assumed it was Eleanor given the excuse that the police said she used. A terribly clever girl she is, do you not agree?" I watched as more of the amber liquid drained down his throat and into his stomach, its ultimate goal to corrode his liver. He was trying to get inside my head, which made me switch mental gears; I knew he was trying to get at something. I wish he would just ask so I could put down this crystal tumbler. "What are your intentions here Dr. Crane, if you don't mind me asking?" He caught me by surprise, I admit I was expecting a completely different question, and the only clear response that came to my mind was that I intended, in some way, to eliminate the Batman, but I don't think that was the answer he was looking for. He rose from the chair, which sighed with relief at the expulsion of his weight, and put aside his glass for a henchman to pick up. I was a bit unnerved because I was not quite sure what to expect, but when he grabbed the crystal from my hand I knew that I had enraged him somehow. Oh well, what could I do now? I took a fair collection of quiet steps until I was able to lock my fingers about the lion shaped doorknob and free the door from its bindings. I couldn't wait to get out of this shirt but when I was about to shut the barrier behind me Thorne called out to regain my attention, and I answered with a sigh and a roll of my eyes. "Treat her well Jonathan," was all that I could hear as his voice flowed mostly into the fire that was a blaze under the hearth. I didn't know what he meant at first but when he spoke again I feared for what was left of my sanity for there was no doubt that the Marquis was seated in one of the leather chairs, enjoying a brandy and the scene between Thorne and I as it unfolded much to the perverse man's favour. "I think what you need is a nice f**k, Crane." With that he turned around and smiled as if he was waiting for approval. I thought I might have thrown up at his suggestion; it was that unexpected, like being hit broadside with a truck. My voice fumbled against my tongue and nothing would really form, words would just kind of dribble out and fall to the floor, where they wriggled about like tiny maggots. "E-excuse me?" was all that managed to break free from the prison of enamel, but luckily it was all that I really wanted to say, I had to know if I had heard correctly.

"I said, I'll have my cook prepare a nice duck," oh dear lord I could not have been more thrilled at my poor hearing, "You can go change if you like, I know Eleanor made sure to bring your clothes with her. Or at least I assumed they were yours, because I've never met anyone else who travels with an entire suitcase of ties." I smiled blankly as he pushed my limp, stunned form out from his study and down the way into the room where Eleanor was unpacking everything she had brought for me and hanging it up along the double-tiered rods that lined the walls of a bedroom sized closet. I hadn't even noticed that she had brought all of this, she really was quite clever.

When I finally found her in the closet she was dressed to a T, in a quite plain Elizabethan-inspired Prada that looked exceptional on her, although it did nothing to disguise all of the spots that boasted a black similar to the fabric. Her spine showed every vertebra as she bent over to place another Valentino suit upon a wooden hangar and onto the lower railing. But when I coughed lightly to get her attention she stood straight up, so quickly I thought she might get whiplash. "Do for," I stopped her before she could finish because I didn't want her to apologize for nothing and offered to wear the next suit she had unveiled. It was simple one but at least it served to its elegant name.

I walked out of the closet, adjusting my tie, but froze the minute I saw her ankle spin about in slow circle above the stone floor. I wish I could have controlled myself but my eyes had a mind of their own as their small, invisible hands climbed up her legs and ended up at the foiled neckline of her dress. There was something awkward about it, seeing as how Elizabethan collars usually hugged the neck and hers seemed to fall away to both sides. Her eyes were shy and her face made her entire self look like a checkerboard, for there was no denying her fantastic shade of red that stood aloft from the black of her dress. I kept my hands laced to my tie as she rose from the edge of the bed, her hands carefully holding up the chest of her fashion as she turned her back to me.

A sharp swallow stabbed my throat as my sight traveled from every scar and cut down her back, ultimately halting at the base of her lower spine, where two sharp indents found their place right above the end of the zip closure.

"W-would you mind Dr. Crane?" I had no grasp of the English language to deny the request, but I admit it did take a bit longer than it should have due to the fact that I had to focus all of my energy to preventing my fingers from shaking out of control. I watched, absentmindly lost in desires, as the closing zipper masked every wound that I wanted so desperately to stitch, and when I finally secured the fastening at the nape of her neck I realized that with my lack of attention I had managed to trap the end of my tie in the middle of her back. Super. I would have slapped my forehead if not for her turning around and strangling me to asphyxiation. "Eleanor!" I coughed out as her eyes got wide and she turned back around, her hands enclosed about her opened mouth.

"Oh, do forgive me Dr. Crane! I-it's all my fault!" I felt guilty for frightening her but at the same time I just wanted her to stop moving so I could figure out how to get myself free of this mess. I felt her entire body go stiff as I tried to hold her straight with my right hand and free the end of my tie with the other. It was almost free when I could not imagine anything worse happening. Thorne had opened the door saying that dinner was ready for us, but when his eyes fell on the two of us his brow rose and his lids narrowed in suspicion. His shocked frown, after a few moments, flipped over into an amused grin, for I think he knew that this was a most embarrassing occasion. All of us stood in silence for another minute before he continued his message, "Couldn't this wait until _after_ dinner?"

He laughed to himself as he shut the two of us within the room, filled to the brim with an awkward silence and all of its relatives.


	14. Chapter 13

I do not own any part of the Batman franchise, just simply a fan with some sort of plan c:

Eleanor prevents a disaster! c: So Please Enjoy! 3

I did feel bad that my dress decided it would be a good idea to take a nip at Dr. Crane's tie, and that it held him in such a curious pose long enough for Boss Thorne to walk in on a most exceptional display of presumed perverseness, but what could be done about it now? I only wish I had a clue as to what the two of them had been chatting about before hand. It might have helped my mind prepare a nice lead in for conversation at the dining table. After all, dinner was an extravagant occasion here, and I would rather not be his frivolous court's jester.

The dining room might as well have been an additional wing to the structure for its size was unparalleled by any that I could recall. The elder cedar beams that ribbed the ceiling dripped down towards the floor in cascades of wrought iron dungeones chandeliers, caped in wax from archaic candles. Boss Thorne did love things that represented past ages of expert décor, the candles being of the twelfth century, I assumed, to match the elongated table. Never before had I spent so much thought on the surrounding furnishings or the glint from the silver plates that looked a flame under the slow blazes up above. Indeed it was a location teetering on the brink of overindulgence, but in a very natural way, it befit the owner well.

The man stood proudly at the head of the table, his Armani dressing gown exchanged for a rather smart jacket, with his arms spread in greeting as he gestured for Dr. Crane and I to join him on either of his sides. Of course I proceeded toward the left, for only men get the right. Boss Thorne's eyes watched the two of us closely as it took a few minutes for us to stop shifting from side to side, and blocking the other's path. It was as though the scene was being sabotaged by awkwardness, for when I didn't think I could get even more red a henchman was chivalrous enough to pull out my chair an inch too far, and from my companion's side of the table I'm sure that falling in a crash to the floor was every bit as hilarious as Lucas' struggle with the Silver Iodide was pathetic. The salad hadn't even come and already I thought my head would burst with vinaigrette.

A henchman sporting a crisp white waiter's frill poured Thorne a large glass of wine, all the way to the brim, and then stepped lightly to pour the garnet liquid down into the glass that was nested in amongst long, pale fingers, suspended below eyes gripped with the iciest blue. So frozen was I that I couldn't hope to open my mouth for tea, or the viciously slit duck that the henchman had brought in, a bit too eagerly in the course of the meal. I adverted my, now pair, of embarrassed eyes to my barren plate leaning on the edge of the table between thickly handled knives and forks. Suddenly, what scrap of an appetite that had been lurking was now gone and the only thought that went through my mind was one of harvesting organs as the quick thud of a clever clenched in the hand of our ever so barbaric waiter caused the fowl's slender neck to become cloven and its head to dislodge, spiraling upward and then plummeting back down to Earth. With a terribly loud splash I thought I would faint from a pure and utter nervous meltdown as Dr. Crane's snowed eyes widened to meet with those of the petrified water bird, who's cranium was now bobbing up and down in a fine Chardonnay. I tried to prevent an implosion by holding the sides of my head in place as Boss Thorne's roar of a laugh rang out and his eyes became glassy with ill-conceived joy. "Oh good god, look at you two! You," he pointed his large finger to Dr. Crane who slowly put down his glass and pushed it as far away as his arm would reach, "You look like you've seen a ghost. And you," he shifted his weight and clasped his hand down onto my inflamed shoulder, "You my dear look like you need a hug! … Crane?"

My index and middle fingers removed themselves from my eyes while I watched in horrid disbelief - A Boss Thorne try and push something of such a nature upon the doctor, who's face looked as scarlet as it had when the officer's blood had been painted across it with a roll brush. His hand immediately attached to the head of his tie, from what I now recognized as an extremely nervous gesture, and pushed upward from his collar to the bridge of his nose. Great. I enjoyed the Boss' company and appreciated his hospitality but not like this. My knees pushed against the upholstery, regaining my full height and … unfortunately the attentions of both men, who stared up at me with slightly ponderous brows. "Erm," it felt awful when my hands tangled in themselves and speech became difficult again, "H-how about you two retire early, hmm?" Oh how heart wrenchingly original. I could have stolen the henchman's clever, to my right, and lobbed off my own head, if only I wasn't so afraid it would fall into Dr. Crane's wine glass along with the fowl. Luckily Thorne seemed to understand and quite literally hoisted my companion out of his high arched chair by the collar and dragged him down the hall, through the pocket door, and back into the safety of his most prized study.

My hand found its home about my neck as the henchman waited politely holding the door open that lead out into the hall, so as I could follow. I knew his stare was trying desperately to turn my head so as to get a better view of my eye, but when I thanked him for his gentlemanly behaviour I had hoped his curiosity would be satisfied with the evidence of two perfectly original occupants of my skull.

The hallway down to the study was a dark corridor of black stained woods lined with oil portraits of Boss Thorne pictured in many different styles, and the doors to the study were a fantastic display of French inlays. The doorknobs were small gilded English lions and I feared that they had been caught in a brush fire for a considerable amount of smoke was sifting into the air space from beneath the two gates. I knew my brow had raised in wonder, a bit, but when I entered the room my mouth must have ripped apart for I know not how my lips could have sustained such a pull, as my jaw fell to the stone tiles.

Through the thick haze I could see Boss Thorne leaning against his black lacquer grand piano, smoking one of his most prized cigars and bobbing it up and down between his fingers before biting upon the end to inhale a deep collection of Havana. I didn't mind his large chest puffing out and then slowly compressing as he enjoyed the artisan tobacco but when the swift sound of Mozart's fourth concertstuck encircled around my body, mimicking the ribbon snake that still lurked in my residence, I could not help but replace my bottom jaw back onto the shelf and turn my attention to sharp shoulder blades that extended against and pulled away from the most sharp of Armani shirts with every motion of stretching fingers traveling up and down the keys. Admirable black shoes pressed upon on each respected peddle to keep time with the most lovely of notes, and his pants were pressed to be free of all imperfections, …much as I imagined him to be. Everything that filled my vision was elegant and he played beautifully as his own cigar smoldered in the crystal ashtray that had found its place atop the ledge right above his fanned fingers. It might have seemed odd, but as the smoke billowed about his head and shoulders I found him to be so relaxed, and I'm sure I looked a damn fool, standing there on the threshold with my mouth fixed into a childish smirk of idolatry. How glad I was that his focus was occupied by the sheet music instead of the mad rush of smoke out into the hallway. The last thing I wanted was another situation involving an insinuating stare from Boss Thorne… but as I considered leaving that was just what I received.

"Eleanor! Dear girl come join us," Thorne yelled, unnecessarily loud, and I did what I was told, even if it meant a sharp halt in the piano as Dr. Crane jumped into the air, knocking over the bench and scattering volumes of scribbled musical notes across the floor. His slender form was made even thinner as he bent down and picked the bench back up, hesitating before forcing his hand over to the ashtray, at lightening speeds, and snuffing out the end of the cigar into the palm of the glass. I wanted to laugh for it really was quite… endearing, that he would be such a gentleman and put out his cigar in the presence of a woman. Not many still held fast to old fashioned customs and his chivalry was duly noted; but before my mind could think of a way to reward his manner the voice of uncomfortable embarrassment personified itself in the raspy, drunken voice of Boss Thorne who stumbled to the doctor and practically shoved him from the door ordering him to fetch another flask of brandy from the alcohol cellar. I tried my best to bring it to the man's attention that Dr. Crane couldn't possibly have any idea as to where the cellar is hidden, but to no avail. He closed the door, guarded by the lion knobs, and put his arm about my sore shoulder, pushing me down into the lap of one of the twin leather chairs. "He'll be just fine my girl," his body folded in the chair across from me, "the walk will do him good." My mind swirled around and around like a cake plate. I knew that Thorne had been drinking but I failed to see the reason for sending the man I desired to see away. I was terribly worried that he would get lost, that I would never be able to find him, and that his body would end up mangled under the bed of a pack of ruthless henchmen.

"Please sir, do allow me the courtesy to help him find what you ask for!"

The range of audibility frightened me for my tone was a few decibels louder than it had ever been before and I knew that I had stepped out of line. The man's brow furrowed and he smashed his cigar into a leafy powder, causing a small skull shaped cloud to climb vertically, mixing in with the smoke already present. His oversized hand slapped against his forehead and I watched, slightly unnerved, as he slid it down his face, stretching his tear ducts out and revealing the blue veins that hid underneath his eyelids. Guilt captured my entire body in a lasso that found its hold embedded in his doubtful glare, while the leather of the chair sighed in relief as he shifted his weight, crossing his hefty legs and almost kicking me in the shin.

"Do," he hesitated which caught me by surprise for he was usually so articulate, "do you _like_ him? Is that what all of _this_ is about?" he swallowed painfully, "Because, frankly, I'm completely lost at what you're trying to accomplish by all of this. It's so unlike you to act so rashly and without a plan… without an _order. _For I assume that your father has no knowledge of your _fraternizing_. Am I alone in this assumption?"

What could I say? Of course I liked Dr. Crane, otherwise I would never have acted so spontaneously and released him from the asylum in the first place. After all, no one as kind as he deserved to rot away in a brick cell lined with smears of bloody handprints and shackles. But the italicizing that Thorne put on the word as he spoke made me sift through all of the files that were spread across the jelled floor of my frontal lobe, trying desperately to find an explanation for just what he was going on about. Unfortunately nothing came to mind and I had to reveal that I did not fully understand what he meant by the word '_like_.' Which, by the looks of it, entertained him a great deal.

"What I mean Eleanor is," I noticed his lips tighten as he suppressed a laugh, "if you don't have feelings for the man then why would you risk the extravaganza with Gordon? You do realize that he will be looking for you now, _along_ with Dr. Crane?" He rested his head in his hand as he continued to stare into my face, examining the lines for any sign that could give away a clue as to my behaviour. A swaying was growing in my shoulders, like a child beginning on a swing, and I knew that the situation was becoming a bit too heavy to manage. I wished Dr. Crane would return with the brandy that he was sent after so that he might rescue me from this one on one interrogation. I had had enough of mindless, prying questions for the day and really only desired to know if he had become lost within this monstrosity. And if that turned out to be the case, I should probably go and search for him, less he end up encased in the walls somewhere. I would never be able to live with my guilt.

I laced my left hand around the right shoulder in a feeble attempt to hold back the spasm, which was storming along at full speed, scouting for an opportunity to free itself of the nervous anxiety that was filling up my lungs, along with the cigar smoke. The floors were cold against my ankles as my body flung itself at the door, my hands desperately groping the wood in search of those ridiculous lion knobs, trying to release myself from the stifling heat that had miraculously appeared into the study while no one was looking. Even the rolling ladders panted and took themselves off the rails so they could find relief in the cold cloud at the rug.

"You're not fooling anyone darling," he called after me as I fell out of the door and into another being, "you're simply fooling yourself."

Most ecstatic I was to be free from his ridiculous roast that I did not even think to look before I shoved my entire bag of flesh from the threshold. The entire front of my dress wilted under the extra weight of a liter of amber alcohol, but when I pulled the fabric away from my abdomen all that came to my mind was hilarity, in addition to the light blush that crept up my back and covered my face at the sight of a certain lovely pair of lovely Italian half-heels. My sight climbed from his shoes, up his flawless form, until I settled on his profile. His brow was set in an expression of sorrow but I still only longed to trace his jaw with my hand, preferably the one not soaked in sticking fermentation. "I am so sorry Elea-," My body fell closer to him as my ears desired only to hear him finish his sentence, for I just wanted him to say my name. But an extraordinary loud crash caused the two of us to jump in frightened surprise and Boss Thorne to practically rip the door from its hinges as he joined us in the hall outside. The three of us watched as four henchmen ran by and tried to hold back the enraged force that was not going to settle for anything less than destruction. A sharp wind pushed what hair it could over my scarred temple as I caught a glimpse of Thorne's hand clasped around Dr. Crane's tie, pulling him back into the study and shutting the door. My anxiety felt abandoned as all of my mind's receptors were focused on finding a reason as to why Boss Thorne had taken my companion back into the room and left me not even a second to join them. But with a rumble and a turn of my head the reason hit me like a ton of bricks.

"You worthless… you wretched… you… WHORE!" I assumed that my eye would just pop into my skull as my own father's fat sausage fist found the organ as if it had his fingers locked in upon it. Although I admit he must have been drinking because instead of being a hit more towards the center of my face he had shifted towards the edge, and rather than fly straight back against the ground he spun my body like a top, sending my waif height right into the door that barricaded Dr. Crane from a most certain demise. My sight was beginning to fail out of the pupil, but not because of being hit. His hideous filigree ring had spilt my eyebrow open, causing a flush of red to pour down and roll over the already saturated fabric of my dress. I tried to turn my head to face my father but my idea was denied by his open palm cupping against my free-flowing cranium and burying it into the once beautiful inlays. A small smile materialized on my white lips, for the harder my father shoved my face against the wood the easier it became to hear the most beloved voice of the man I took such brutality for. The lion knob that pressed into my right hipbone twisted back and forth, tearing at my skin, as Dr. Crane tried so desperately to open the door that I knew Boss Thorne had locked a long while previously. His large feet tapped against the ground as his captive questioned, furiously, as to why he wasn't helping me. Even though I knew the answer my heart beamed with joy as I heard the words come off of Thorne's tongue. "Believe me Jonathan, if he sees _you_ she's dead."

With a scuffle and a few frantic footsteps I knew that Thorne had released Dr. Crane down into one of the leather chairs with the ornate rivoting, no doubt offering him a drink or another cigar to try and take his focus away from me. My smile only grew as I heard the crumpling of parchment and assumed that his attention had been distracted not by anything that Boss Thorne was trying, but by the note that I had secretly enclosed in the left pocket of the doctor's jacket. Happiness clouded my senses and I did not even notice that my father had took a hold of my throat and held me like a mother tiger would hold her cub, by the scruff of the neck. Pain only seemed like a secondary hero compared to the lightheartedness that prevailed, as I knew that Dr. Crane was safe from harm once again. There was nothing better than that.

My eyes winced together in pain as my knees scrapped against the floor, my body following an inch behind my father's heavy soles. When we reached the front castle-like doors the man turned about and I knew exactly what was coming. He raised his free hand and brought it down, with full force, introducing it to the back of my head. And when my chest collided with the stone threshold, I heard my spine cringed as it tried desperately to support the generous weight of my father's heavy-set build.

"Hear this Thorne! I'm taking back what belongs to me!" he spat, "I offered her to you once and you didn't accept. Live with your decision jacka** and keep your filthy hands off my property!"

A pitiful cough escaped me as blood filled my nose and coated my tongue. I was thankful for my short hair, for after exuding my sign of life those thick fingers trapped my head and dragged my limp appendages down the stairs and across the sharp gravel; eventually my mind found solace in the thought that right then, as the trunk closed down upon my fading eyesight, Dr. Crane was still _flawless_.


	15. Chapter 14

I do not own any part of the Batman franchise, just simply a fan with some sort of plan c: So Please Enjoy! 3

My skull throbbed like nothing I had ever felt before, and when the shimmer of surgical tools flashed to the right my body snapped to attention. I couldn't be too surprised however for even though my eye had shown no signs of being broken, the second barrage from my father didn't help any, and chances are I must have finally come to the stage in ill recovery to where the doctor would have just saw best to remove the tattered old thing. I certainly hoped not, but my vision from the left side was black and anxiety traced its fingers along a thin layer of gauze, which held fast to my skin with more surgical tape. I guess it had finally happened, injury to the point of disrepair. I assumed that when Lucas took all of this nonsense off my profile that I would have been reduced to nothing better than a test subject. I suppose in the grand scheme of things that an over exertion of denial is a healthy reaction to something like this. I'd have to ask Evee.

The door to my residence opened with a groan of anguish as the carved bears protested to their sudden awakening. The shades had been pulled down to shield what pathetic amount of light could hope to penetrate through the thick paned glass, wet with the mid morning rain. Everything seemed to have stayed exactly where it had fallen upon my less than glorious return to this hellish domain. The police left with Gordon the evening prior but they did not seem to harbour a concern for cleanliness. Papers littered the hardwood boards all around the cream coloured sickle-shaped chair that I had been so anxiously propped up in. My teeth clenched in my jaw so tightly I thought they too might have to be removed as my sight darted about to every ruined corner of the once demure space. The thin oriental style rug that I had so generously paid for was pocked with muddy footprints and ash marks, god help me if I ever find them – for cigarette burns don't come out – and the once beautiful piano, that had been a gift from Maroni to my father to commemorate their hundredth deal, was slouched against the edge of the mat. I thought that rage would come spurting out from behind he gauze, for that was really the only outlet that it could have possibly found in the amount of time it had to expel itself from my head before the bone gave way. Gordon and his band of heathens had brutally marred two legs of the piano, causing it to fall in a heap and crack the unsuspecting boards underneath. Many of the strings were torn out and most of the keys botched, but frankly I don't see why they hadn't just set the thing a blaze while they were at it. It might have been even more entertaining for them, some enormous fire to stare at while they ransacked my residence, turning over every stool and dislodging every drawer.

When my feet swung off the end of the foot stool I thought that I might have to employ a bit of mid morning souchering for those brutes in navy had visibly destroyed every bit of china I had ever collected, careful to take their time in spreading it all of the floor wherever they pleased. My rib cage buckled as I tried my best to kneel down and examine the piece closest to the chair, I assumed, I had been thrown into for the night. But I wished that I had not, for the shard that waited beneath my curled spine was a simple fragment of the loveliest teacup I had ever hoped to acquire. Delicate roses adorned the outer edge and leafing was present all around the saucer, encased in a brilliant gold. It had been my mother's before, the last tangible thing that remained of her in this rampant monster of a building and now reduced to nothing more than waste. I did not possess its mate any longer, for _that_ was the cup I broke when I ruined Dr. Crane's tea service the very first time I ever saw him. In a moment my mind was plastered with every image I could recall of my mother as I turned the small fragment of porcelain over and over in my fingers, still bearing the crisped surgical tape that had been saturated over and over again. Wonder examined the rest of my living space as I continued to drown in flashes of calves and ankles, trying desperately to build the rest of the woman who must have loved her daughter, but for the life of me I could not gain any recollection past the knee. Defeated, I relinquished the shard back to the woven fibers below my knees and just pushed myself forward, wading childishly through all of the points and pricks, past an overturned table that had covered the ground with grains of sand from the miniature Zen garden. I admit I only liked to play with the very small rake but now I knew that some slob had probably taken it as he chased Gordon's coattails out the door, for one of the sculpted bears had its snout lobbed off and I could take a fair guess as to which idiot was responsible.

My kitchen looked like a flooded marshland, with an inch of water covering every section and miscellaneous tea bags floating in packs along the surface like Darjeeling ducks. The water rippled away from me as I submerged myself in its majesty, hidden forks and all, fanning my fingers through the cold. It felt rather soothing to have tiny streams of tea flow across my torn skin as I rested my pulsating head upon an overturned drawer. The cabinetry had fallen and precariously perched themselves as stone outcroppings in a loch; while a tea satchel came to lounge on the back of my hand.

It was a small, unimportant item but the fragrance it spit out into the airspace was regal and so ironic given the disheveled surroundings. My unhindered eye focused on the fabric as it stuck to the ground leaves encased within, but readjusted as the faces of the carved bears stuck their tongues out in exhaustion.

Lucas stepped cautiously into the room, as if another being were in here with me, holding between his fingers a simple calling card. A slight panic gripped his expression when he could not find me within the chair by the darkened windows, but it was relieved as he traced the path I had made in the broken mess and laughed to himself. "Miss," he laughed inside as he bent down to hook his hand behind my shoulder blade, "if you wanted a lot of tea," his fingers trapped the tea bag barnacled to my hand and tossed it down into the puddle beside him, "you could have used a larger pot." I smiled shallowly for the all too sudden change in elevation caused a centripetal force to collect my liquefied brain to the center and let it drain down my spine.

The two of us stepped lightly around the many remaining dangers and into the bathroom, as Lucas let me fall, slowly, into the basin of the claw foot tub and turned the faucets with his own scarred hands. I suppose my father had given him a once over too, although he didn't sport a measurement of milliliters in his right tendon as I had, just cuts held together with slightly whiter tape. I hated the sting that followed the rush of warm water as a washcloth was trailed across my skin and along my neck; but try as I did Lucas would just bat away my hand and force me to sit still while he continued. A hesitant twitch took hold of his fingertips as he gingerly cut off the tape that held the gauze around my eye and turned my chin side to side, no doubt examining the fat hole that was probably the newest feature to my already mangled face. "Looks like it'll heal up nice this time," he said with a barely there grin and washcloth poised to attack, "Thorne sent over the Doctor last night and he fixed up that lame eye of yours right. You should be able to see out of it in a few hours, which will be nice, and then you can be all well and good for that date of yours with Miss Evee." My whole body cringed together like a dying bug as he smothered my fragile socket under the surprisingly soft fibers of the humid cloth. What was he talking about? I didn't remember posting any notices on the screen of my mental melodrama about an outing this evening, surely I had to find a way to contact Boss Thorne and ask as to Dr. Crane's condition, but at this point I had no idea what to do and thought it best to just surrender to the antiseptic siege against my scarring tissues. Warm water rushed downward, over my head and along my face, as Lucas wrung out the washcloth above my head, playfully, and threw it at me, where it collected around my now ruined faux-Elizabethan collar. His knees cracked as they unbuckled and extended him to full height, which was still shorter than mine, and lead him towards the door, which shut lightly with a barely audible click. My brain rejoiced for that small click meant no more torture with that evil washcloth coated in Hydrogen Peroxide, and I let my head fall back under the water, blowing what little air remained in my lungs to the surface. The world was much nicer beneath all of the little molecules that made my vision blurred and my ears work as though under muffs. The current felt amazing as it rushed over my newly repaired eye and around my ruined dress, but when the dim light reflected the corner of the small card Lucas had been holding my mouth opened and I received an undesirable amount of bloody, brandy tinged water. Gasping like a fish I sprang up and seized the small paper in my hand, trying to read the now running ink. Smart move scientist, I could be such a free thinker some times.

The small piece of parchment looked like an old Japanese silk painting for the ink fell, quite artistically, down in lines, like ventricular clouds, forming mountains dusted in sleet. The script was scrolled, even without the addition of water, and was quite fine in size, which required a fair amount of squinting.

"_Eleanor, Iceberg Palace – Nine. Bring that confidant of yours."_

I was not quite sure as to why I would be going to the Penguin's nightclub for he had only ever met me once beforehand, but I assumed my confidant would be Evee like Lucas had reminded me. I guess I had been hit harder than I thought, for I didn't recall ever seeing that hideous beaked man anytime within the past fortnight. Hmm, my eye seemed to have a bit of sight returning to it, for the sudden change in focus caused my mind to set upon the bleeding of ink from the reverse side of the card. My fingers lost control of the soaked paper and it fell into the water beside me, allowing me a few moments to try and make out what was scribbled across in a rushed script.

"_Don't worry. I fixed that eye of yours. It's still in there although it may not feel like it. Here's hoping that father of yours starts aiming for the other one. – J."_

A small laugh scared me as it flew from my unsuspecting lips, and with that I let my head take me back down to meet what lay beneath the surface and closed my eyes, feeling the vibrations flow through the water as the exhaled bubbles popped and flew out into the air above.

The car screeched to a stop at the end of the alleyway that extended out into the ghetto territory from the side entrance to the building. I couldn't risk having that crotchety old doorman see me, and Tuesday didn't rightly know how, nor would she be permitted, to take the back entrance – via the ferry that was docked secretly in the marina, a good twenty minutes out of the way.

I wasn't that greatly acquainted with the woman but she was a friend of Evee's and therefore one of mine as well. After all, Evee was a fantastic judge of character and chances are she would know as to why the three of us were going to that shady club. Tuesday's long hair was pulled into a clasp at the base of her neck and trailed down her chest a bit. She was rather attractive but nothing special compared to Evee. I wondered if she felt the same way I did when walking next to our shared friend. It would have made sense if she did.

Her voice emulated a simple greeting as I opened the door for myself and adopted the passenger seat, fastening my safety harness for I didn't really feel like being jettisoned through the windshield. It was an admirable automobile with dark leather seats and a swift interior, but for some reason I just felt strange. I wanted to know what was happening to Dr. Crane, if hungry henchmen had finally eaten him and had his bones stuffed into the wall. I certainly hoped not, for it would have been terribly unfair to never be able to thank him properly for repairing my sight. I really had no idea that he could be so bad at stitching but have skill enough to mend an eyeball. That in it self was quite fascinating. The green fingernails of my companion turned the music up and constricted the steering wheel as we continued on our journey to retrieve Evee. I assumed her office would be the end point as she was probably just getting off, and I was correct in my assumption for not a moment later we were in front of the building watching her amber hair fly from the door and into the back of the car.

I was so thrilled to see her, after having to leave our coffee outing so quickly, that I thought I might jump into the back of the car if not for a lack of depth perception. Instead I pushed my sunglasses further up the bridge of my nose and turned around to face her as she looked directly forward. In the smallest whisper I could manage I asked her if she knew where we were going. But after doing so I wished that I hadn't for her lips curled into a smile that locked back laughter. She flipped her hair over her shoulder and adjusted the harness on her chest before looking back to me and saying that it was my _friend's_ idea for all of us to go out tonight.

I think I will write a letter to Prada thanking them for making this exact pair of sunglasses, for when Evee told me that it was, I assumed, Dr. Crane's idea that all of us would travel out this evening my eyes grew so large that I thought whatever stitching was around my socket would tear. How did Evee even manage to find him to talk with him? Boss Thorne was supposed to be keeping him away from outside influences, less the police find him and take him back to Arkham. Her eyes squinted and she pushed her head towards mine, as if she was examining what I hoped she couldn't see, but when she bopped my forehead I knew that she was just playing around.

"Eleanor seriously! What _does_ the lab do with all those thoughts hanging out in that head of yours? It was _you_ who told me all about the plans for this evening. Don't you remember?" Truth be told I had no idea what she was talking about, but when Tuesday halted the car in the parking structure behind a small Shoppe, specializing in tango and other formal occasions, I realized that I must have been hit a lot harder than I could recall. My body froze to the leather as that pesky mental melodrama showed scratched images of Dr. Crane sitting over me with a rather large needle, shaded by the worried expression of Lucas watching over his shoulder. How did I not remember what was being accredited to me? I wanted to burn down that stupid theatre, for it never showed me anything that could be coherently understood. But instead I sat in the passenger seat until Evee yanked the door open and heaved me by my sore arm out and into the store with her and Tuesday. Normally outings with Evee were my favourite thing in the world but at this moment all I could think about was why I was _here_ when I could have Lucas outside in a few minutes, if he drove fast, to take me to the Palisades in time for afternoon tea.

Evee's face contortioned into an expression of unease as Tuesday and I ran around the store picking dresses out to try on and overloading the dressing room, which a store clerk got angry about until I flashed her my American Express Black card. Indeed that little bit of information shut her up and changed her mood rather quickly, people on commission are so easy to predict, it's sickening. The three of us disappeared into the jungle of gowns and all came out, a few times, with dresses so unbelievably hideous that I wished I had a camera with me. But eventually Tuesday and I settled while Evee continued searching. Tuesday had picked out a formfitting, green dress complete with a frill that collected at the bottom behind a yellow rose. All things considered it looked nice on her so I really had no bad qualms.

When my body was expelled from the rancid mouth of the dressing closet I was shielded from the noxious fumes of the store clerk's perfume by a rather simple cocktail dress that seemed to be the only one I liked, granted we weren't at Prada. It boasted a taupe, pleated chiffon skirt that came together in an umpire waist, adorned with a bow of the same fabric. The chest was a shimmered amber colour toped with thin straps that, I admit, were quite a bit more revealing than I would have normally bought, but the smile that Evee had when I spun around for her convinced me to take it.

Guilt swept through the small boutique, for as I laid down my black card, much to the joy of the clerk, Evee still hadn't found anything. It wasn't fair that I had found a dress I could settle for when she had yet to spot anything worth her time. Tuesday held out a few pieces to her but she would simply shake her head no, until she took it upon herself and walked up to the front of a mannequin, looking rather extravagant in purple.

She would have picked that one, purple was her favourite.

Slowly the memory of overhearing Dr. Crane talk on the telephone about all of these plans came back into play, like ants in a line, one by one re-entering my skull and filling in the red velvet chairs that preceded the silver screen that _was_ my sight. I remember that he did not want me to listen in, so he had me make any adjustments, that I saw fit, to a small beaker of his toxin. The yellowing liquid was homogenizing and I really didn't think it needed anything changed within the chemical equation, but all the same I left him alone in the main level of the lab, taking the substance down into the subject hold. The lights were out in the under dwelling, which was common. All I had to do was pull the generator cord, housed in the wall quite conveniently. Naturally, as soon as the regenerative lights flickered on, all of the beings behind bars retreated to their dark, blood soaked corners only to stare at me and the new item fixed between my hands. Worried glances gazed out through the few eyes that remained imprisoned and many palms with missing digits extended outward to try and read the beaker, with a Braille type talent I suppose. But when one palm became too eager and knocked the glass from my grip I knew things were about to go horribly wrong. A green cloud rose up from the floor and stabbed my coat collar as I wrapped it about my nose and mouth.

Luckily the sub human creature closest to me didn't suffer from having a nose and I didn't worry that he would inhale it and be driven to a crazed episode of delusions.

Unfortunately however he still bore three fingers and splashed them all in the collection of bubbling acid at the base of his cell door. My body snapped vertical and I watched as the tips of his fingers slid in between the folds of skin holding his lips together. I remember calling for Dr. Crane as the patient's pupils dilated ferociously and I quickened my pace from the dungeon, shutting the bookcase door behind me. There was no way I was going to be around when the disgusting flesh sack acquired super human strength from adrenaline and blew the door apart. No sir.

Evee and Tuesday brought me back to attention when they pushed me into the back seat of the car, Evee overtaking the front passenger side. I saw that she had purchased the purple dress that had wrapped its fingers about the back of her head like a person trying to surprise her, and I was thrilled that she had found something. I was worried for a bit that we might have to go elsewhere from the place that Tuesday had taken the three of us, therefore costing me minutes of time away from the lab that I didn't have.

Unease gripped my mind and ground it up, like meat by-products through an extruder, as I looked both ways before exiting the car and ran down the alleyway to the side door. My hand skyrocketed as I fervently waved to my friend and her associate. Her scarlet lips moved in the most bizarre patterns as I assumed she was trying to tell me something that just didn't extend its reach so far. My shoulders rose in a slight shrug as her hands disappeared into her purse, retrieving a piece of legal paper and a sharpie.

"_Be ready by 9!"_

Evee's handwriting was always so lovely, and sure gave my Doctor's prescription penmanship something to aspire to. My head nodded forward subconsciously as the sections of my fingers fused to the cold, wet metal handle, pulling the heavy door open and sheltering myself from the rain outside.


	16. Chapter 15

I do not own any part of the Batman franchise, just simply a fan with some sort of plan c: So Please Enjoy! 3

Rain fell on the windshield like tiny pellets, collecting at the top, then rolling down aimlessly as I waited for the valet service to finally get around to our company. It was taking an exceptionally long time seeing as how normally the Penguin doesn't have brilliant galas within his distasteful establishment. But no matter, for any break in this endless torment from Jack and Edward would be a welcome relief. I watched in the rearview mirror as Edward pushed back his reddened hair and attempted to adjust his unsightly tie that obviously did not do any justice to the Armani shirt he sported, for the item was clearly Bill Blass. Vague was the answer to my questioning of Jack as to why he would bring the man along, but I assumed it was so he might have another comrade in this oh so hilarious mockery of my BMW being European, and housing the steering on the right side as opposed to the left they were familiar with.

My companion lounged quite comfortably in the seat beside me, glaring at my form mischievously with his scarred mouth twisted into a small smile. "You know Crane, perhaps if you bought American your driving would be a smidge above that of an eighty year old woman." His laugh was high, the shrill one many heard over the news when Gotham City aired the video of his hostage holding, and it permeated the black interior, rolling over the head rests and centre console until finally crashing together in convergence with Edward's from behind, as the enigma stretched out and messed my hair for the twelfth time in twenty minutes. A rather imbalanced ratio of contact to time, which made my subconscious wish he would just get stabbed through the eye with a rusted barn nail, all the while, contracting Oxyuriasis. Just his presence in the back seat of my car drove me mad with annoyance, throwing malicious thoughts into the stew of my mind about scaring him half to death with an impromptu colostomy. Luckily for Jack's invited third party the rather overbearing valet found just the right timing to open my door before the civil war surgeon's bag was thrown open and thrust through the man's navel. After all it was Nygma who caused us to run behind schedule in the first place, seeing as how in his little universe it was perfectly acceptable to precede taking shots before the actual occasion began and drag me, unwillingly, from the tailor. So now not only were the three of us a half an hour late but I also had a suit that was too large through the shoulders and rather unpresentable. At that point I would have collateralized my soul for another if Jack hadn't so _generously_ reminded me that I had no soul to pledge. HA. I rolled my eyes, not in any mood for jokes, and when the valet held out his hand for a tip I simply bequeathed him a small hypodermic needle filled with fifty milligrams of Heroin. At least _someone_ would be put out of their misery; God knows he was high on the morphine derivative already by the look of his dilated pupils and twitching left lid.

Now I would not have been in such a rut had Jack and Edward discontinued their barrage of teasing after exiting the car, but seeing as how the act was just in the spirit of the evening I had no chance for peace. I longed for Eleanor's company in this campaign of ill humour. All I could think about was, in the least, having her stationed by my side to smile along with what everyone said. It made the mental weight lighter, for I found it terribly infatuating that she didn't understand any of the innuendoes, or really anything that flew around her head that had sexual notation. Their sentences would just hover about her ears and then evaporate, having given up the futile attack.

A stout man with a curled moustache greeted the three of us as we journeyed through the frosted glass doors extending upwards and into the warm foyer. Anyone who hadn't experienced the warm cranberry walls and cherry hardwoods floors of the small stationary room before would sorely mistake the comfortable indulgences to be that of the Penguin's fancy. But beyond the solid oak doors, one would take the man for actually being from the Arctic, rather, after spending a few moments in this, his Iceburg Palace. For beyond the large gate was a cold front spreading over the waved tile flooring of various blues, ranging from navy to cerulean to well… ice, under an open ceiling that displayed all of the polished chrome piping and steel rafters. The studio lighting that dangled from the sparkled black ceiling would emit alternating shades of cold across the waves and up the, quite literally, iced walls, that would perspire every time the bartender lit a shot glass on fire.

Now, the bar itself was hexagonal, much like water when it crystallizes, and boasted the only alcoholic collection in the city that manufactured its own vodka on site, of which he so originally named 'Bravado.' Once again, HA, the only thing that could have been funnier would have to be a lecture on denrochronology. Of course once I started thinking about tree rings that became all that filled my mind as the mirrored ball rotated above the men in crisp tuxedos shaking canisters filled with spirits, The stout man lead us up a clear glass staircase and into a private box, boasting the best view of the night club. My eyes caught the slight drip of water plummeting to the collection drain that ran all the way around the club, acting as its baseboard, while the current that encircled me brought a chill up my spine. I almost collided with our guide as I stepped over to the darker side of the chaise. For with my half conscious brain at the wheel I cared not to look down. The man was more like an obstacle than an actual human seeing as not even the very top of his head breeched my line of sight.

The private box itself was rather nice. Elegantly furnished and complete with iced metal railings, guarding its inhabitants from diving into the throng of fast paced people by causing their hands to slip backward. A silver fern from the gilded palm tree poked its head in, making the private box not all that much so, as it continued on its journey into the night. Red and orange light reflected off its shimmering trunk for it had been dripped in lights befitting the theme chosen for this average Tuesday evening. I had hoped for something worth my attention, but Jack insisted that I decide on an event that would fit everyone's interests, which clearly meant no Viennese Waltzing. His exact words were, "find something that doesn't cater to your boring, uptight, eighty year old self," so I certainly found accomplishment in locating an evening themed with Latin influences, and it seemed he did too. His scarred mouth curled into a pleased grin as his eyes darted from couple to couple moving about the floor in perfect unison and, unsightly, close proximity. It was a small wonder that the walls of ice didn't just collapse as the heat from the numerous bodies bombarded the crystal structure, presumably sending our floor into the sea below. His hands encircled the cold steel and shifted back and forth, melting the ice underneath, as Edward calmly lounged beside me, ordering a small martini from the even shorter waiter who had come for that exact purpose. It was so foreign to me that anyone could possibly drink more than three shots and then chase the whole chaotic mess with yet even more liver corroding wonders. My mind laughed shortly at the thought that maybe if I dropped in a capsulated toxin he would give up the continuation in exchange for a more eventful stupor, one I could find entertainment in, for the tango wasn't exactly a dance lenient of upright, stiff posture.

"Why do you always look so goddamn unhappy Crane?" Edward spit at me from behind his frosted martini, "You're always such a fun hater! You and Jervis alike. At least _he_ smiles from time to time. Maybe you should start preying on little girls now, perhaps _that's_ the secret." I had about enough of his impolite tendencies and ear-shattering slur, that's when Jack came and flopped in between the two of us. I was almost wishing he'd say something about my driving. At least then I would be rid of this discrepancy. Normally the man of riddles doesn't bother me but I suppose he had just been lucky enough to catch me on one of those off personality moments where my only desire was to hear how he could scream in puzzled rhymes. Jack's suit fit him surprisingly well, which only irritated me more, and his blonde waves caught the light with a greenish glow that reminded me of his alter ego. It was for the best that we had been given a private box; less any of the people downstairs see the colour and recognize him. After all, not everyone in here was a career criminal, some of the guests were just everyday, law-abiding citizens too idiotic to know an ultra lounge from a dive bar.

After a few moments of waiting, being stabbed by overly loud salsa music, the short waiter came back with yet another martini. Nygma was sly, I had no idea he had even ordered another, but when the small tuxedoed body scuttled over to my feet, shadowing my shoes with his frosted tray, I knew that he only did this to make another pass at poking fun. I thought my face would melt off with newly found rage as he leaned his entire upper body over Jack's lap, hoisted the martini into the air and watched happily as half the contents of the shallow glass spilt all over my less than enjoyable suit. "C'mon Crane! I'm trying to do you a favour." My eye caught Jack's entertained grin and sighed audibly. There wasn't much I could do now, it wasn't as if I had time to leave and come back before I expected Eleanor to arrive, the only option I was left with was to go down to my car and see if I had another in the trunk. I knew that I had about three pairs of shoes, but knowing the time I was having tonight that would be all that was in there.

The back of my knees pressed off from the chaise and brought me to full height, which I admit was a bit claustrophobic due to the 'artistic license' the architect took in shortening the ceilings, and I stepped lightly towards the shining drape while taking off the jacket now soaked with gin, terribly unamused. Naturally Edward thought it was a riot as he yelled for me to strip, unnecessarily loud, and Jack, I'm sure, found the whole scene to be rather entertaining for a superior smile basically encompassed his entire face.

My mind was entirely focused on leaving to the point where, I have no idea how; I missed the entrance of that stout, round man with the prominent proboscis, all shielded under a gleaming top hat. His coat was adorned with tails long enough to drag on the ground, causing the dust to billow about his spats, and his waist was constricted beneath a red cummerbund, no doubt to show off his desire to be festive and fit the theme of the evening. He was a funny little man, there was no doubt in my mind that the monocle was a costume piece, and although his top hat was a respectable eleven inches from the crown of his head, his full height still only reached my navel. Of course that was to be expected, and as if the scene wasn't uncomfortable enough already he smiled up to me, with his front teeth concealed by his beak, and motioned for me to go back and join Edward and Jack on the chaise, which I really did not have any plans to do at the moment. His beady eyes opened to a squint and ran up and down my body before he clasped his right hand to his chin and spoke in his bird-like squawk, "Do you _ever_ stop growing?" The question provoked an irresistible urge to make a pass at his vertically challenged self, but that was quickly suppressed as his flipper fingers shoved themselves into my abdomen, pushing me back to the chaise as I tried desperately to remain upright, for the last thing I desired to do was be pushed over by a man no taller than four foot one, thereby giving the two hyenas behind me even more to bark at.

The man's traits encompassed everything about the flightless bird, even down to the fish smell that was combining with the stench of gin in the fibers of my shirt. Now I really had a need for another suit. A sigh escaped me as Jack grabbed my shoulders and plopped my limp body back beside him, whispering, "Welcome back baby," into my ear in a mock woman's tone that caused me to be covered in bright red, for it attracted the attention of the Penguin perched in front of us. He stood with his wing-like jacket arms stretched out to the sides like Jesus as he tried to make his voice as pleasant as possible. "It is such a pleasure to be hosting all of my favourite men here tonight, let me try and make that clear," his gaze shifted to each one of us as Edward's eyes swirled and Jack's smile slowly turned to mockery, "While you are here everyone it at service to the underground's finest. Anything you need, think not twice before asking." The red drained from my face like a mercury thermometer splashed into an ice bucket. Who exactly did he think he was putting on? For god's sake he really was Gotham's resident Boss Tweed impersonator, and quite gifted at it as well. …I suppose everyone needed a hobby.

Edward and I were both shocked sideways as the loud clash of skin stabbed our eardrums. Jack had begun to applaud the man for his showmanship, slowly rising from the chaise and slinking over to the short bird, who looked like a mouse cowering before a lion. The two of us remaining prone knew the feeling as the stout man quaked under the touch of Jack's hands on his shoulders, his fingers piercing through the, way too flashy, tuxedo jacket. "Anything we want hmm?" he asked in a growl not audible beyond seven feet. The beak-like nose of the Penguin bobbed up and down in a furious yes while beads of sweat tumbled down from his brow. "Well then," he said, containing hilarity in each syllable, "_get this man a suit_," his finger jabbed at my pathetic sadness as Nygma messed my hair yet again. The portly ball of black and white spun like a top and ran towards the drape, swallowing hard and clapping his fishy hands together twice before three more tuxedoes individuals joined us, making the small private box all the more crowded. I wondered if the oxygen was self-replenishing in this nuclear icicle.

While I smoothed the arm of another suit it was clear I owed Jack a favour. Not only had he saved my sanity, well what _could_ be rescued, he was now ushering all of the uninvited men out and back down the staircase. I stood next to the edge of the chaise with Edward spinning an olive about in his empty glass, and thought it polite to offer to buy whatever he wanted as he disappeared behind the frosted fabric. I should have known better for when his hand flipped back around, constricting all of the cash I had on me, it became apparent that I had already offered to pay. A small smile appeared on my face at Jack's craftiness as I rejoined my remaining companion back on the chaise to wait for our anticipated guests to finally show up. All I could do at that point was ignore Edward's riddles that were shooting into my ear like arrows, answering each one with a disgruntled monotone, and wonder as to what was keeping them.

I was beginning to think my elbow would cramp from turning over and over to surrender the face of my watch to sight as a ghostly man, even more so than myself, appeared before us to announce that the rest of our guests had arrived. At that point I did not care what happened I simply wanted to get away from Nygma's never ending barrage of supposed brainteasers that only made my mind feel even more annoyed at their unparalleled ease. Although it would have been rude to tell him so. Instead I forced what was left of my attention to the odd shoes of the man as he retreated back down to the hexagonal bar below. Unfortunately the moment they disappeared I found myself running rampantly, searching for something to look at before I seemed a complete idiot for not having anything to say. But of course it was already too late, my luck had ended with the gain of a presentable suit, and now all that I could see was a lovely pair of Manolo Blahnik heels that served as rooting for the most statuesque of legs.

It was her voice that shot a hole through my brain, making my gaze snap to attention at her alabaster profile, stationed slightly to the right of another two women, one of which I flatly assumed was Evelyn. It was obvious which one she happened to be, for the other confidently walked to the left and kneeled before the intoxicated heap that was Gotham's Riddler, smiling all the while. It was quite hilarious actually, for I wasn't sure the lady knew what was wrong with the man she so dearly looked upon.

Amber heels crossed through the sea of blue flooring and brought my companion, I had been so patiently waiting for this exact moment, not a foot from my shivering spine. I was not aware she owned anything with a colour to it, but the subtlety of the yellowish gold was yet another thing I did not expect from the woman, and yet another surprise. Breath filled only the very bottom of my lungs as the warmth from her smile absorbed into my skin, sending the all too familiar burning feeling right through every nerve ending, morphing into a migraine at the sinus. Good lord why was this so _difficult_?

"You look lovely Dr. Crane," she said, her smile now masked by a veil of scarlet, "but…" the addition of the conjunction made my shoulders fidget in a sudden flood of anxiety. Great, knowing how the evening had gone so far I wouldn't be surprised if I still smelt utterly repulsive with the slime of fish continuing to sprout out of the pores on my stomach, although I hoped not. My entire form was frozen as I watched her long fingers fiddle with the knot and end of the tie suspended from my collar, pulling it every which way until it was perfectly straight, "your tie was crooked, that's all." With my eyes wide it was as though she had pricked me with a pin, for I deflated instantly, falling to the back of the chaise as her poor mind must have been fraught with worry. Sharp exhale regained my attention as she sat beside me, hands clasped together, blocking my seeing her dress. Which I'm sure looked just stunning, if it corresponded with her shoes as I imagined it to. The only emotion I could contain at that given moment, as her teal eyes folded in concern, was a complete thrill at the absence of the marquis and all of the sardonic reflections that followed his campaign like a band of trumpeting elephants.

I already _had_ a migraine; elephants would have only made my head rotate demonically.

Edward stood up, quite suddenly, at the touch of his friend's hand and was introduced to Evelyn before the two of them disappeared down the stairs, to the bar no doubt with the adventure he was on this evening. As I watched them leave out of the corner of my flattened eye I noticed something strange about his lady, but when Jack ascended up the stairs my mind was dragged into the show unfolding. His fingers wrapped around his interest's profile, lightly, as he brought down his mouth very near her earlobe to whisper what I assumed to be a greeting of mystery. A crimson mist rolled over her face and I knew it must have been something good for she turned on her heel, ever so simply, and played coy while he retrieved champagne from that ever so timely drink waiter.

Where _did_ he always come from?

It was easy to tell that Evelyn felt the effects of the liquor instantaneously, for she became rather fierce with him and demanded, in a rather seductive way, that they join the mass of people dancing right in that moment. She took hold of his stiff hand and the two of them departed without so much as a returning glance. My forehead felt as though it had been stabbed instead of pricked, and the violins from below weren't exactly helping with the healing process. The bridge of my nose might as well have been the instrument's strings. I wish another waiter would come so I could pay him for an aspirin, seeing as how all I had on me were capsulated toxin, and that wasn't going to get me anywhere that I was really looking to go. Not with the company I was keeping at the moment.

Speaking of Eleanor, the poor thing had eyes about ready to fall out of place and dangle across her cheek, suspended by the vein and connective tissue. Obviously Evelyn's aggressive behaviour was something of a shock to her, although I could see why. Jack should have stepped forth and been more of gentleman. Oh well, he knew what he was doing, which was more than I could say for myself, seeing as how all I could concentrate on was having to clean off each glassy orb and stitch it back into my companion's clever head, desperate to place the teal to its former luster, as if she were a life size rag doll. Every moment alone with her beside me was both thrilling and defeating, just as it had been the first time I met her, and without the start of another party it was apparent the two of us could never escape the clutches of a lack of conversation nor the constant hammering of awkward silence. The time previous was of no concern for it was only myself following behind as she toured my incoherent thinness through mountains of compound journals. Here everything was on the table, including the wandering eyes of several strange humans combined with the internal ramming of pain against my forehead. I suppose I should have reviewed Murphy's Law before agreeing to set up this entire disaster for Jack, and it seems the girl had the same thought.

Her right leg bent over the top of her left, allowing the pleats to fall to the chaise underneath, revealing the skin of her thigh and a sharp swallow plummeting down my esophagus. Her pale hands were seated on her lap, hovering above that which I found my mind desperately trying to imagine. How odd it was that I didn't even think to respond when she questioned as to if I was feeling well, therefore subconsciously bringing her to address me over and over in that light, barely audible voice of hers that wrote it's words down on loose parchment that fell to the decrepit flooring in my fantasy, crushed by the point of a courtesan's heel. I guess I had discarded the sodomy manifesting inside my skull like a beehive too soon, for the constant ticking of an old-fashioned projector as it flashed still scenes of a silent sn*ff film beat on its surroundings with a rusted mace. At this point I cared not if all I had were thirteen little white pills, at least they would rescue me from this prison enslaving her grace and my perverse doppelganger of a cellmate.

"_Sir_?" A snotty voice shouted out from under my chin, dragging me back into reality.

It was the drink waiter, and not a moment too soon, because at the moment I found myself desperate enough to mix toxin and the worst possible alcoholic item obtainable. I apologized, quickly glancing to Eleanor who simply smiled, "He asked you if you would care for anything." I felt my face turn red as I twisted away from her and back to the little man who tapped his appalling miniscule fin against the tile, supporting the silver tray like a birdbath. There was no feeling more uncomfortable than being made a fool of in front of a lovely woman, and being in this exact spot only made my imagination turn the ugly little dwarf into a man that I hoped I would never see again. Bo Griggs bore into my delirious face from under the silver tray, causing my eyes to widen in awe at this hideous demon resurrected from the earth of my memory. The last time I had seen him he was dead behind the wheel of his car with is brain dripping from his left eye socket, seeing as how the actual eyeball had already been jettisoned out and dangled above the limp body of his whore girlfriend, of whom I once strived for.

My mind went into a panic as the migraine's throbbing became unrestrained and began digging trenches below my sinus, hoping to find an easier time in pushing my eyes out like pitchers of hot oil. I didn't recall ingesting an errant capsule earlier, but at this point I wouldn't have been surprised. The peculiar apparition beneath me grew smaller and smaller, or was it I who grew taller as he continued to ask me what I wanted repeatedly. I brought my hands to my face, lowering my head down to my knees in order to be level with this most pestiferous roach. "I'd sooner have you liquefy the plague," I hissed as the skin surrounding him became slick and slid from his body revealing the same rude little waiter that had come by before. I felt nauseas as his thin lips pulled back and he magically called forth an item befitting the location and two small shots from the same mystical location, "Aye' then this will suit your fancy quite well." Apparently _magician_ was a proper quality, for as he put the bottle down in front of me I thought my tongue rusted and turned to dust, adhering to my upper palette. His vertical quality bobbed up and down as he strained to removed the cork from the frosted green glass and pour the acidic clarity into the small bullet cowering in front of my piercing gaze, " Brennivin for the gentleman, Iceland's black death. You asked for the plague sir and here it is," he hesitated for a moment before pouring the same for Eleanor and I couldn't blame him, the drink wasn't exactly fit for a lady but nonetheless I watched as she pinched the small shot between her fingers and drained it, most likely to be polite. The colour drained from her face while contortioning in disgust, and guilt was the only thing that came to mind, for I knew the same expression would veil my own profile following the glass that so calmly awaited my liver. Pathetically, my left hand gestured for the rat to leave us, and the bottle. All I could focus on was how painful it was going to be to endure the stench of burning flesh as Iceland's premier fell through my entire body, easing out into the airspace by way of my exhaling.


	17. Chapter 15 Part 2

I do not own any part of the Batman franchise, just simply a fan with some sort of plan c: So Please Enjoy! 3

Time seemed to take forever to pass by, leaving a trail of slime as it tried to catch up with it's closest relative – _the snail_. It was a wonder that neither Edward nor Jack had been back at least once, and after taking a quick glance around the room it became apparent that either someone with an overly large straw had snuck into our private box or that my dear companion had finished half the contents of the eerie verdant bottle. Oh dear lord, what have I done? My head turned ever so slowly only to catch Eleanor right as she brought the small glass down from her now seared lips. Her cheeks were pink, more colour than I had ever seen without an embarrassing scenario, and her teal eyes glimmered under the layer of intoxication. She smiled up at me causing every one of my joints to buckle, I longed for even limited mobility, just enough to get my hand over to the Brennivin so I could hide it behind the chaise arm I was now backing up against.

"Dr. Crane…" she whispered as her spine bent back ever so slightly. I answered with the only word I could come up with, which was an ever so original 'yes' as her gaze turned from content to contemplative. "O-oh," her voice trembled as she brought up her hand to shield her mouth from sight, giggling. "Wouldn't you know… i-it seems I've completely forgotten," Her eyes shifted from my chest back to my face as my mind spun like a zoetrope. What was going on here? Never mind, I knew exactly what was at work here, and needless to say it wasn't what I had been expecting out of her company.

I watched as my fingers molded into a suggestive point, mimicking the thought that was being drawn on the drafting table within my skull. Half of my personality wanted to take advantage of this most intriguing opportunity, but that side clashed violently with the gentlemanly demeanor who simply instructed me to leave her to her own misery. It seemed my brain was twirling about itself for the constricting pressure was becoming rather great. Only when I felt softness upon my drawn-out finger did I grasp the entirety of what was _actually_ happening. Unease strangled my flailing conscience as my eyes fell downward, viewing the radiance of her closed eyes, savouring the texture of her pale hand laced within mine. Nothing I could have come up with would have been satisfactory, and for the first time the Marquis wasn't lingering behind any of the ice walls to give me a sadistic hint as to what on Earth I should do next. I was all-alone, to the point where even Jack's relentless teasing would have been acceptable. Even my subconscious was out of ideas, and with that realization I thought I would simply lose my command of the English vernacular all together.

"E-Eleanor," my jaw open in sharp inhaling as I kept my gaze adverted, "y-you know um I-I-I um I…" truth be told _I_ had lost all control of the situation and _I_ had absolutely no idea where all of this was going. I thought my throat would rip open from being victim to such vicious swallowing; for suffocation was what I was gearing up for as she pulled my forearm straight, and then curled it about her shoulders like a mink wrap, nuzzling her glinting hair into the crook of my jacket. I knew I must have looked completely childish after turning bright red and being without an outlet for my anxiety. The greater contact with her was stinging my flesh and causing me the greatest discomfort but I couldn't decide on the most polite way to get her off of me. I wasn't even sure I wanted her to leave, for even though the burn was excruciating it was unlike anything that I had ever experienced and, indeed, it proved most fascinating,

My head drifted forward and studied her extended white fingers as they slid up the fabric of my tie and then over the lapel, slowly applying pressure to my right shoulder as she used the leverage to pull herself that much closer to my ear. Jack whispering to Evelyn flashed in my mind and I turned my face away as if by nature. Her surprisingly warm hand left the safety of my shoulder and traced its way down my jaw, bringing that unwilling ear of mine back to her mercy. "Please Dr. Crane," her soft voice pleaded with me like a child at fault, "you've been alone for far too long." I felt my eyes wince as she bit down on the lobe, practically through it, and slowly retrieved the glasses from my face, placing them, with surprising delicateness, onto the table.

"Eleanor, please!" My anxiety took hold of her bare shoulders and brought her from me with shocking resentment, and I immediately wished I had thought of a better alternative. Her eyes were cloaked in apology and I found keeping hold with them to be the most difficult thing I had done in quite a long while. Her skin was so soft beneath my touch, bringing the imagination from Hell back for a second go around. My heart flipped as she sweeped my grip away from her protruding clavicle. "Do forgive me," the words escaped my lungs with a breathless tendency as her reddened lips curled upwards into a mischievous smile, her right hand taking a spot on my thigh as she slipped downward to lay her head in my lap. Contact with her dark hair was like dropping cesium in water, frankly I was quite surprised my head didn't explode from the shock, or that smoke didn't billow out of my lungs as I thought Tuberculosis had finally claimed my unsuspecting body.

Dizziness claimed my mind as I tried to follow her hand's path up and down my leg, but to no avail. For after putting my glasses back on I realized that Jack had been keeping an eye on the two of us while he and Evelyn danced amongst the other guests, allowing an even more brilliant shade of scarlet fold down over my exhausted face, that was now shielded by both of my equally red hands. I had no idea how this evening could turn into anything more than a circus sideshow and signaled the drink waiter to bring us a fair collection of the best the house had to offer, after all if I was going to try and forget all of this I might as well start right now. And when the ugly little rat brought bottles of Akvavit I knew he had a distasteful sense of humour to go along with the boorish look her gave Eleanor as she continued to stare absent-mindedly from her vantage point on my lap. It would take at least three more bottle of the Scandinavian amber to clear my head of the nervous storm now turning into a cyclone, flooding out from my orifices. Luckily it was still rather early in the evening, so there was still a brilliant amount of time to give me a reason to _finally_ let Jack drive my car.

Two and half bottles later I found myself still well aware that I a lovely woman had surrendered herself to my every desire, _and_ that I had not accepted the gesture, therefore making her look like a complete fool. Her eyelids were closed now and her face had regained its deathly white, the winter colour that was so endearing because it matched my own so beautifully. Her entire body was so cold that I would have mistaken her for a glacial decoration had I not been interested. Very carefully I lifted her upper body and slid to the side letting her skeletal frame bend over the entire length of the chaise.

Watching her lie beneath me only reminded my conscience of the scars that were still dominant on her temple and the stitches at the nape of her neck. Half of me could have kicked my ass for not taking advantage of her outlandish behaviour, which would have given me the perfect opportunity to do a check up on the newly re-stitched gash. But the other was simply broken hearted that it took an Icelandic spirit to convince her to be so close, although I'm positive she didn't have the same motives as that _whore_ Sherry Squires - curse that decaying slut body of hers. How I longed desperately to dance upon her grave and taunt her for being a loose… thing of the female persuasion, after all _that's_ what killed her, not me.

Eleanor shivered from coming down off the high of alcohol, which it was now apparent had never really infiltrated her system before. As I took off my jacket to drape across her upper body, imitating what I had done so many nights before, I found myself strangely happy kneeling beside the chaise and sifting what the length of her hair would allow from her face. She was so enchanting; I can't rightly believe I didn't take up the opportunity. If I didn't get away from her I knew my heart would bleed, or something else that proved completely unnecessary. So I led my weighted body over to the frosted railing, loosening my tie and resting my elbows on the chrome, watching Jack twirl around and about with Evelyn. It seemed by the smile on her face that she found him attractive, and he her, so at least one thing was accomplished for the better.

My neck was stiff as I leaned over the open atrium of glacial qualities, and I surrendered to the urge to roll it about my shoulders in a feeble attempt to heighten my chances of arthritis later in life, if I actually still found breath in my body. In the ceiling above the dance floor the frosted glass skylight seemed a bit darker than usual, especially since I knew the night was not as black as the morphing ellipse that seemed to fall ever closer. My attentions were completely gripped by it, and it seemed I was the only person in the giant block of ice who even noticed. That is, until it crashed through and down onto the centre of the waves in the form of every guests worse nightmare, or at least all of the ones who claimed super villain as their primary job description. The black cape flew out in coriolis motion behind him as his pointed ears turned left and right watching all of the panicked faces scramble and run into one another. The whole scene was like ants running from a magnifying glass. I had no idea where Edward was due to the fact that I couldn't see him anywhere in the frantic sea of terror. Sometimes I wondered how the batman did it, to scare all those people to the point of grayscale, hmm then again I wasn't planning on sticking around to ask him either. Jack had grabbed Evelyn and made his way to the outer edge of chaos, which I was glad to see, and when he shot me one of the most serious looks I assumed he could provide I knew the whole scene was going down hill rather quickly.

"What's going on?" I tore around in my place and ran to my companion, picking her up by the hand that was trying to rub exhaustion, and no doubt fellow migraine, from her newly opened eyes. I did feel a bit guilty for leaving so many bottles out on the table but in this case I'm sure the Penguin wouldn't find fault, seeing as how he was probably curled up under his desk in the very top of the structure. Eleanor's face was even more pale, to the point of translucence, when the two of us had reached the bottom of the glass stairs and she saw the Batman for, what I assumed was, the first time. It seemed that tonight was quite the collection of firsts for her as her eyes widened to allow the vigilante's full height to appear in her sight. Her gaze shifted beyond the black mass to where Jack had Evelyn headed out the front door. I hoped that she had driven for there was no way he would make it to my car, and to be honest I didn't much care for the idea of him critiquing my driving yet again. The fact that I had finished almost three bottles of Akvavti wouldn't help my cause either. Eleanor pulled against my grip to try and get to her friend, how _sweet_, and when the black cowel turned around to face she and I there was no exception. I thought her arm might fall off after how hard I pulled to make sure the two of us made it back to my car, that luckily had been pulled around on code red orders from the flightless man. I definitely owed him an apology for all those horrible things I said about him to the guards at the aquarium when he was trying to free all of those Galapagos penguins. I'm sure he had a perfectly acceptable reason for releasing birds that reeked of fish just like he did. Maybe one of them was his mother. At this point I didn't care in the least.

Eleanor looked completely defeated as I told her to get into the car. Her eyes would shoot back over her shoulder and when she sat next to me they simply swam over the black leather and European steering. As we left the back alley and pulled out into the dirty streets that surrounded the night club the pain from the migraine made an unfortunate reappearance, combining in the ultimate illness with the guilt and embarrassment that had collected over the coarse of this most vile evening. The silence between us drove me mad because it was so different from the awkward one that usually followed us around. The air was coursing with animosity and it was as though Jack and Evelyn had joined us for the eat that was compiling within the interior was stifling. Eleanor sat with her head in her hand, staring blankly out the window as the poor surroundings scrambled by in a fog of black and dust. It was too much, my mind was stabbing itself with adrenaline injections to try and create enough strength to rip from my spine. I pressed up on the volume control behind the steering wheel, immediately wishing that I _hadn't_ for the only thing that came out from the speakers surrounding us on all sides was Dia psalma, and I didn't think Swedish was the best communicator at the moment.

I watched out of the corner of my eye as her head shifted and she reached out, turning the volume off completely. Her small voice floated out, "jeg er ikke I modus." I admit it was just yet another thing that caught me by surprise, for I didn't expect her to know Swedish, or in this case Norwegian, and when I realized she told me that 'she wasn't in the mood' an unannounced fit of anxiety metamorphosized into rage. My grip tightened around the steering wheel and I threw my sight upon her. "Okay Eleanor…" just her name rolling off my tongue in such a tone hurt me even more, "what could _possibly_ be wrong?" Her face was completely devoid of colour against the black of the leather headrest and her eyes were even more lifeless than Sherry's that fateful evening so many years ago. My brain was a package of pure oxygen, the tension between us – an open flame.

"Why didn't you do anything?" I wasn't sure how to answer for her voice was not soft any longer. It had taken a on a sharp, metallic bite that intrigued me while stoking the fire that fed my blind anger. "Jack was in just as much danger as _you_ were and yet _you_ only thought of yourself! What kind of friend would do something like that?" I could barely keep my eyes focused. How dare she speak to me that way, and with such hatred. This woman spent her entire life trapped in a cage, she knew nothing of what it would be to try and defend another, and unfortunately… I had been thinking out loud. Her dead eyes took on an entirely new level of satanic, the teal turning to serrated edges as she turned to face me with her hands cutting into each other. "Well, then it would seem that I would possess even more of a reason to do everything I could to protect the ONLY FRIEND I HAVE!"

The range of her screaming could pierce through the steel doors on a bank vault, for I wouldn't have been surprised if I would now go deaf in my left ear. The fact that her peculiar waif frame could generate such volume was unnerving and caused the silence between us to come surging back. The rage flooding inside met with annoyance that she would assume she could raise her voice to me. Anyone within a five mile radius could sense it. "What would you have had me do _Eleanor_? In case you hadn't taken the time out of your busy schedule to notice I DON'T HAPPEN TO BE MUCH BIGGER THAN YOU!" Yelling at her felt horrible and it didn't help that she failed to flinch what so ever. It only caused me to remember who her father was. My mind painted an atrocious black eye on her and everything was over. I remembered everything that she had done for me and it only made me feel worse. I averted my eyes to the dilapidated buildings that lined the now dirt road. Her stare burned into the side of my head, leaving invisible scars to match the ones I had bestowed upon her. "Nothing. I wouldn't have you do anything at all, because I wouldn't want you to feel like a TOTAL AND COMPLETE COWARD," it was clear this evening was a disaster, "but wait… if I stopped you from doing that how would anyone hope to recognize you?"

The pure oxygen canister that was my brain? No more. I had had enough of her insubordination and her complete… understanding of the truth. Nothing would have pleased me more than to just be alone, like I had always been before she decided to be a hero and free me from Arkham. I slammed my foot on the brake, which spun the car around in a semi-circle due to the dirt road having no traction. I pinched the bridge of my nose to try and minimize the now flaming pain from the migraine but it did not help in the least. Her white fingers were digging into the skin of her forearms, drawing little dots of blood as I grabbed the back of her head, forcing her to look at me. For the life of me I couldn't remember where I had seen her in this predicament before, but no matter.

"Listen to me dear, sweet, innocent girl. What exactly were you planning to do to help that confidant vixen of yours, hmm?" she tried to look away from me, which only made me even more annoyed, "I SAID LOOK AT ME! You wouldn't have been able to help her. You can't even help yourself!"

Immediately after making this statement I wished that I had just called Jack this morning and said everything was off. Her eyes would have spun in their sockets if they had no rooting, but the freezing sting that formed across my cheek was, however, something that actually happened. I couldn't rightly understand where she got off thinking she could strike me. Her behaviour was the perfect emulation of Sherry, and I LOATHED that b*tch. My soon to be former companion's teal eyes filled with sadness, like an abused pet, as I reached over her shallow breathing and opened the door, shifting my hand from the back of her head to her neck and shoving her out into the dirt – just like I had done so many years ago.

I wasn't thinking straight, whether it was my migraine or the guilt I felt from throwing her out, but the only thing that came to mind was probably the worst thing at the _worst _possible time.

"I'm sure if you stay put Lucas will find you."

I could feel my heart packing. There was no way it was going to leave her like that, it told me so, as her face fell and her hand closed around the bottom of the open door. I wanted so desperately to just get out of the car and pick her up, apologizing profusely until I had no more words to cover my mistake. But at this point I might as well have been tied to the driver's seat – I had already failed miserably by the way she slowly brought herself to full height and spoke the last words I would probably ever hear from that barely audible voice. "Yes sir." With that, she closed the door without making a sound and walked down the dirt road, disappearing in the veil of night.


	18. Chapter 16

I do not own any part of the Batman franchise, just simply a fan with some sort of plan c: So Please Enjoy! 3

It had been so long since I had taken a stroll through the ghettoes at this hour, mainly because it was no place for a lady to be without an escort. But currently I didn't hold a rank similar with a barmaid. My mind was reeling from being shoved out of the car, which coincidentally had not happened in some time, ever since Lucas got demoted. I fancied myself quite the idiot, for I would have to be to think I had the authority to take out my foreign animosity upon the deathly corpse-like face, which bore such loathing in that final moment. I only wish I could have apologized quicker.

The rain fell in the same sheets it had done over the past fortnight, causing whatever impoverish dirt that still clung desperately to my hemline to compact into black mud. I cannot say that I didn't expect this; after all it only seemed befitting for a lady who breaks custom enough to strike her superior companion. Why, had it been anyone else there would have been no point in heading back to Ryan. Its seventy-three stories would have only housed lifelessness, welcoming me back into a dreary holding cell smeared with decay and disease, simply _waiting_ to die.

My eyes refused to turn back as I was lead blindly by my broken heart, which had leapt from my chest and pulled me along by the artery, limping all the while. Pitiful little thing it was, a mere rolling kitten being stuck with broken glass. The bloody mass became my only companion for the journey into abyss. I wanted to take the poor withered organ into my arms, but it knew where we were going much better than I ever could. For in the black cloth surrounding us there was no such thing as visibility, and when combined with the freezing rain it was clear the whole evening was a way of reacquainting my mind with the depressing reality that was my predestined existence.

"There is no room for joy, no room for sadness nor madness. All that you hold a place for, dear girl, be not for another to palliate your emptiness, but merely for proper custom and an aptitude for conversation. That is what _truly_ makes a lady."

This pseudo-speech was the only English my eyes comprehended, whether I read it on a bronze sign or a tumbling piece of newspaper. Nothing pertaining to the heart was ever taught to me as a child. The only information I could recite to the class, at five, was the chemical structure of Siloxane, compared to everyone else who simply spit back rhymes. I could recall every time my face turned red after being exposed as nothing more than a childhood fraud, and every time I would simply use my superior linguistic skills to, unknowingly, remind all of my peers as to how inadequate they proved to be. Needless to say what Dr. Crane had pointed out, though mean, was completely and utterly true, I only had _one_ friend. Who, at this moment, could be dead in a ditch somewhere and there would be no way I could know about it. I was upset at him for not allowing me to go with Evee, but now it became apparent that he was only doing what was best AND that I should have trusted his judgment, as it is _still _dominant over mine. Where the _HELL_ was this revelation twenty minutes ago? Had my brain decided to function properly this entire thing could have been avoided. BUT now here I was wandering aimlessly down darkened roads, fraught with sadness at the fact that I had lost the only thing I found myself really caring for. I could only hope he was safe from that gargantuan 'hero' and not in the bottom of an elevator shaft being consumed by bubonic bizarreries.

I was glad I didn't wear a dress that I proved particularly fond of for the rain showed no mercy to the amber chiffon as it clung to my drenched skin, while my ghost-like form passed under a flickering street lamp. There wasn't a soul out, which was surprising and caused my attention to go into hiatus. Where were the drug dealers and the whores? Surely the rain wouldn't be enough to convince them that the past few evenings were bad business? No, there were plenty of weathered awnings that could provide a lack-luster umbrella for their sinful manner. Then again, given the state I was in, it wouldn't have been surprising if a vile serpent approached me from behind and questioned as to my going rate. Naturally, I most likely deserved it.

I thought about writing a letter to our negligent mayour about the state of these dirt roads. It was like walking through an 1800's western establishment after a monsoon. Sink holes of mud waited below like trap door spiders for any unsuspecting prey to fall into the depths, and a majority of the concrete walkways had cracked with age and fallen into the sublevel of Earth's crust. My Manolo Blahnik heels were already encrusted with black grime, therefore providing no service to me any longer. My knee met with the fingers of muck as I fiddled with the clasps in the darkness. Luckily the ugly things were off before the enormous dirt fangs of an emerging spider, coated in buboes, could secure a grip on my swimming head, dragging me below the quicksand. Lightning illuminated my entire surroundings just long enough for my sight to catch the eight bulbous eyes squinting back at me beneath the peaks of several floating concrete corners, like rotted sugar cubes in someone's coffee. Movement was much simpler without shoes, and I became able to hop from each surface like some sopping kangaroo-giraffe. I know Dr. Crane had told me to stay put, and that I should have listened to him, but remaining in the middle of the road while a swell of filth collected about my wrists and ankles did not seem like the best possible plan. Besides, I had upset him so his order to freeze was probably a two-part irony, seeing as how I would have surely perished, whether from the glacier of mud or the ice that formed on the ends of my hair and eyelashes. It was bitterly cold, and he had been well aware of the fact.

This thought of he purposely sabotaging my health haunted my conscience as I rubbed my right hand over my head, trying in a feeble attempt to dislodge some of the rain. The doorway I found myself in was a rather remarkable display of poverty indeed. The brownstone walls were laden with sharp cracks, which provided a dilapidated home for countless mice and brown spiders. My gaze followed a trail of arachnids down to the base where they turned coarse, heading through another hole above the dirt. It was surprising this plate of concrete hadn't surrendered itself to the tide below, for upon contact parts of it simply collapsed, turning to dust. Rain trickled down through open holes in the awning, running together in pools at the base of the door, which was the focal point of all decrepit visions. The item boasted no surname tag nor call bell, and it suspiciously was lacking a knob. Its once lovely red lacquer was peeling off in foot long strips, like poorly installed wallpaper, while it cracked and swelled with rain. Grey mountains rose up from the foot of the door as if a fire had been contained on the opposite side. Intrigued I was as my body kneeled, subconsciously, bringing my illuminant hand across the splintered wood. The texture presented by the small ashes as I rolled them in between my fingertips gave off a smooth chalk like feeling that led me to believe the inhabitant of this home had a stove warming the shelter with bituminous coal. I wondered if there was still a fire inside for the door emitted warmth that caused a steam to rise from every droplet that rolled down its façade. The splinters seemed to pull my head into their grasp like a magnet for there was no resistance in the direct route, and my eyes rolled upwards to watch another strip of aged red curl down over the crown of my saturated head. Grasping the tip of it within my hand it broke off with such fragility that I imagined it to be much like the petal of some forsaken iris. The structure of the paint held together in the heat of my hand just long enough to allow its eyes to open and look up with a sense of satisfaction. I pleaded with it to stay, telling the little fleck of colour I could save it if it held on only a moment longer, but the small square lolled over on my outstretched skin, curled into a small roll and evaporated into the steam clouding above my head. Loneliness enveloped whatever it could get its hands around. My knees rose to somberly meet with my chin, as the two complained about the insomniac behaviour of the eyes upstairs, who just kept a never ending stare with the line of rain relentlessly beating upon the soil beneath.

Minutes turned to hours. Spiders crawled up my forearm. The rain continued to fall.

"Hay lady," a gruff male voice said to my incoherence, "'ain't it a little too late for a broad like yourself to be walking her sweet ass around? That iz… unless you be doing it fer a livin'."

I was appalled. How dare he address me as such! But my offended mind could only stay inside its skull as I looked up to the neighborhood watch poster towering above me. He was right, I remembered, I had assumed this would happen so why fight the inevitable? His hand disappeared into the pocket of his hideous trench and relinquished a typical handgun, one that anyone could find lying in the gutters of our fair city. His opposite hand freed the safety as the muzzle found its way to my forehead.

I found it ironic, in a way, that I would finally die in the alcove of some squalid tenement when I was blessed with a father who would have been most angry at having another take the sport from his being, who presumably deserved the honour of watching the light fall from my eyes. The barrel pressed its warmth deeper and I sighed audibly, which I don't believe this assailant expected.

"Am I supposed to be frightened?" At this point I welcomed his friendly fire, "if you're trying to scare me good sir I'm afraid you've come too late." I flicked a spider from my white skin lazily as he continued to corrode my face with his negligence. His grotesque voice showered sparks down upon my head as my gaze shifted up to him. "If you want to be intimidating you have to put in a little effort," the sentence floated out as I curled my fingers around the hideous hand holding the firearm aloft. The man's black eyes widened in surprise, which entertained me greatly. A small mischievous smile crossed my face as he and I continued our staring match under the pocked roof that had begun to sag with the weight of water. I suppose his patience had run thin for he placed the gun back into the deep pocket and took hold of my throat, bringing me up to my feet. Once he had done so, however, I knew I had the upper hand. No pun intended of course, how was I supposed to know he would be six inches shorter than I? I tried my best to suppress a laugh at the now pale colour of the assailant's face and the shaking tone from which he demanded all of the money that I had, and naturally the jewelry too. He really was a novice, and I was almost disappointed that the first person who had the nerve to try and rob me was such an inexperienced pup straight out of his mother's dead womb, and I told him so.

He tightened his grip around my throat, but he had no idea how second nature the suspension from a portly hand had become. All I could do was laugh, more so than I had ever done before, and open the small envelope clutch that I had remembered to bring with me. His empty pupils followed my hands into the bag, and lit up at the sight of what I offered as a relic to his sad criminal ego. I had been hoping to give it to Dr. Crane, for that was whom I had made it for in the first place. The unimpressive small glass vile hung from my fingers, dangling in front of his fat nose, as his eyes swung like a pendulum to keep time with the yellowing liquid inside. This was only too perfect, I had yet to test it out so I was dying to know what effect it would take, and this horrid no-name brute would be just the perfect specimen. To think he even still possessed both his eyes! It was a wondrous turn of events indeed. I must have looked so ridiculous, what with this grin of anticipation, as his eyes narrowed into slivers and his gruff voice questioned as to what it was, for he had never seen anything like it out of the streets before.

"That's because it is new, sir," the impatience in my voice was no secret as he dropped me to the concrete and stole the small bottle away, "developed by my own accord not a few days prior. It's potency is unparalleled I assure you. The ultimate in late-night satisfaction." He became beast-like in his manner as his shoulders hunched over and paranoia took effect. The show hadn't even begun and yet there was already a cause to sit back. My eyes were wide as my mind urged him to move faster, to remove the stopper and drink the liquid faster, and to show me what would happen _even_ faster. My weight pressed down on my wrists that propped my upper body up like a doll. I dared not blink for fear that I might miss something important, and I was most appreciative to his addiction seeing as how he paid me quite handsomely for the prototype. I harboured no complaints as he thanked me shortly and pressed the bottle to his lips, bending backwards, draining the vile, and dropped the empty container from a quaking hand. My knees recoiled up to my freezing chest as my hands found a small notebook and black inked pen. I could hardly contain my excitement, which had, for the time being, masked my ultimate sorrow.

The man shot up straight at first, feeling his features with his hands and then pulling them away sharply as if they burnt his profile. Obviously the internal temperature was soaring because he removed the ugly trench and stepped out into the icicles of precipitation, motioning to an invisible being about three yards from his front. I slowly edged toward the ledge, watching still as his height contortioned, breaking in half and swaying back and forth violently. A severe cry of pain blocked out the sound of my scratching instrument as the man fell to his knees, becoming slowly swallowed into the stomach of the mudded street. My observation was completely enthralled by his suffering, and as his hands pulled the cheeks from his skull I knew that I had stumbled upon something fantastic. His dirty fingernails slowly slid up his open flesh and then, which I was not expecting, he shoved the germed masses down into his own eye sockets, poking around the inner wall of his cranium. His cries of pain were undeniable and seemed to awake the black trap door spiders from their subterranean slumber. Thousands of shining orbs watched and slowly encroached on the mad man, waiting for a simple taste of whatever part they could snatch up in their snapping jaws. I peered through the veils of rain as his eyes continued to drip a brilliant crimson. This intrigued me greatly but the sight was nothing like what happened next. My hand had begun to cramp from all of the scribbling that spread over six pages now, and when I glanced upward to catch another observation the man was right before me kneeling with his desecrated face level to my own. "What did you give to me?" he hissed while wincing around his sausage fingers that reminded me, undoubtedly, of my father's. The blood streamed down his face in a darker wine colour as he slowly pulled his digits from their holding within his skull, repeating the question over and over. His breathing had stolen my own and it was in that moment I strictly remembered why the test subjects I was accustomed to were permanently shielded behind solid steel. My eyes widened in terror as he seemed to get his hands stuck inside his long face, tugging and pushing back into his brain with that audible squish until he finally succeeded in removing the foreign objects… along with his now crudely detached eyeballs, who's main arteries dangled from his reddened palms like stringy noodles.

Anxiety gripped my stomach so roughly I thought it would burst as the man slumped towards me, wailing and trying to put his severed sight back into his head. "This isn't what I signed up fer!" he would spit in my face, before slamming his flat forehead up the dusted plate, shuddering with open floodgates. I didn't know what to do. The man was looking for an aide and all I really was searching for were results. My hands traveled backwards to try and escape from this awful blinded man but when my exposed back crashed against the splinters the thought of dying here on this doorstep, like some common Gotham citizen, came reeling back like a marlin on a nylon line. It was so funny how I could be the only child of a mogul and yet still have as much to my name as the creature that was now crawling towards me with cracking eyeballs encased inside the mercy of his thick grips. In a moment I would be no better. My eyelids met and my head fell back against the door, covered by another strip of red lacquer, as that silly broken heart opened the shutters of my chest, gazing up to my nervous form from the sill that supported its elbows.

The stranger's back arched as his right hand crushed down onto the notebook and scared him so that he was now supported by his folded legs. It was an interesting scene indeed, as his fingers groped the leather binding and pushed each individual paper aside, back and forth a number of times, trying in futile attempts to hold the eyeball in his hand up to the writing to try and read what he could no longer view. It proved sad in the way it was unfortunate when the testing subject could no longer bear the strength to lift his sketched hand to scarred, invisible lips and eat molded grain. This pitiful man was marked for the same untimely death, brought to the gates by his addictions, while his ugly trench swayed from side to side and threw the tiny book square to my head, wailing like a woman in birth. The whole thing was terribly haunting, for I had never know a man to make a sound like such, only women, and when it became too loud the echo reverberated off every brown stone unlucky enough to be constructed within the twelve mile radius, splitting ear drums and combating car alarms.

The glassy orbs that he had been holding onto so dearly dropped down and rolled, hitting the toes of my bare feet and looking up at my open chest and closed head begging for relief from the separation between they and their owner. 'If only I could do the same for myself' my mind scribbled on a small note attached to a miniscule carrier pigeon and sent out to the lowly organs. They were captivating little things, it was almost as though they still bore a disembodied brow to illustrate their sorrow – better than I.

Immense pressure built on my shoulders and began to sink into my cold skin as his massive hands shook me back and forth, tears mixing with the garnet color down his face. "Ya have to help meh lady!" He screamed at my wide eyes, a complete wreck, pleading with my white skin to undo what he had brought upon himself by taking new illicit substances from a random woman in the ghettoes. For all his withdrawal suffering self knew it could have been emulsified rat poison and mercury.

My body cringed in disgust as his bloodied head fell into my already saturated lap, his rough hands sliding down my arms and grabbing my wrists. It was undoubtedly even more uncomfortable than tea with Falcone. His sobbing became unruly and he started shaking my wrists to where I thought they might just up and snap, which annoyed me greatly. My face twisted in prejudice as I tried my best to push him upright. "You would want me to _cure_ you," my voice was foreign to even me, "on the surface, you see, the parasite expects the doctor to cure them for free. You're no different than the pervert who prowls the streets in search of a victim he can ravish for his grotesque amusement." My mind spun in circles around this strange logic that was flooding from my mouth like raw sewage. It was not the word of my own accord at all, but for some reason it could not be turned off. As if the spick's nozzle had been ripped from it's welding, I no longer seemed to remember my own conscience.

The man's blood drained off the full chiffon and pooled around our feet as he continued to sob and cry out. But however loud he shouted my thoughts were devoid of salvation, and his suffering only became of the utmost annoyance, pricking the nape of my neck with a stinking dowsing rod over, and over again. I thought my eardrums would pack up and leave as he continued to cry and tell me that surely I must have some goodness to the name of my heart, that I couldn't possibly, as a lady, leave him to die in this long forgotten stoop in Satan's back courtyard. Little did he know that following my striking Dr. Crane I was no longer a lady at all.

Mystically my wrist would rise every now and then to remind me that, yes, I was still trapped in this mind numbing inferno, but then something the pathetic beast said caught my undivided attention. He had managed to break free from his neurotic outburst, muster up enough strength to hoist my unintrigued body upright, and then shove his eyeballs back into his cranium. The sight was one of the most unexpected behaviours I had ever observed as his brow furrowed with a new rage and mud dripped from his tear duct and nostrils. Never before had any of the subjects under my expertise bounced back from the attack of depression and turned to such an aggressive personality, it was one of the greatest bits my eyes would ever record. He strangled my waif form off the concrete and coughed viciously as the mud from his sight dripped down into the back of his sinus. The respiratory disruption was coarse and projected, most likely infected, saliva onto my cold face. His right eye fell back to look up into his brain while the left stayed focused on the steam arising from my face. In between them I assumed there was nothing more than a sloshed vat of white matter which made me feel horribly disappointed.

"FIX ME!" he yelled into my pale face for the last time, and when I refused he was swift to retrieve his gun from that dowdy trench, holding it up to what he assumed were my eyes before firing into the awning already riddled with holes. For a split second the melodrama cast inside my head imagined that to be the way all of the holes came to be, before the shot sent them all running to the alcoves. The bullet's crash was deafening as it had difficulty piercing through the tin and brick, into the impermeable night sky, and once the man was sure that the projectile had gone away his shoulders tensed up and the barrel some how found its way to my shoulder. Then again the man was going on a few minutes of memory so I couldn't be too disappointed that the piping hot metal didn't lock on to a more sensitive part, perhaps my actual face, which must have been his real goal. The smile that appeared on his face peaked my anxiety, for it is most difficult to read what a man with no eyes has spinning in their brain, but it became perfectly clear when his pork thumb came down on the trigger and he tossed me to the ground. "Since ya won't fix meh lady, I'm gonna' make sure notta soul elsewhere in this hellhole will be ablez to tell yer sorry mug from mine!"

I should have been frightened. There would have been no shame in such an emotion. But for some reason the only feeling that played on the television screen, being watched by my broken heart from the comfortable setting of my concave chest was one of relief. There was nothing more ironic than death by guinea pig, and here it was – happening within due time. I felt my anxiety leave in a surprised fashion and stare at its once happy home, then to the shaking hand of the gunman, which threw itself skyward and then dangerously close to his own femoral artery. "Say good bye ya siren!" In my presumed last moments of life there was a sense of solace to his gruff voice and my eyelids met in cordial motion as my heart reopened its rib cage shutter to welcome the point blank shot. I was only hoping that he still had hold of at least a certain amount of marksmanship, for a shot in the arm would have been most unpleasant.

Hours seemed to pass as I sat there against the peeling door in the darkness. If anything was worse than dying it was waiting.

A sharp bang and a flash of light – that was all it took for everything to end.

The melodrama cast came back out, slowly, from the sides of the stage, looking around and about trying to figure out if anything had really happened for everything still seemed untouched. A sigh escaped my lungs, but as I opened my mouth to expel the exhale I really wish it had come out my nose, for as soon as my lips parted the white of my face was splattered with the tainted crimson of the strange assailant. Needless to say it was the second most disturbing thing to happen in one evening, the first being that unforgettable toxic smell of Icelandic liquor, which still charred my esophagus. Anxiety smiled from ear to ear as it jammed itself back into my psyche by way of my open rib cage, reclaiming its comfortable leather seat within my conscience. Apparently the first thing on its agenda was to cause a minor freak out, bringing my height from the dusted concrete and out into the frigid rain, in a weak attempt to rinse the cells off.

For a while the rain did nothing. The blood was too thick and impervious to chill, which I wish would have been a characteristic of myself, for if I had a thermometer tied to my back one would be able to see that my body heat proved feeble. My hands acted as squeegees trying in all effort to clean the waste but everything I tried did nothing. Nothing. I felt my heart reach out and knock against my forehead, seeing if anyone was at home. The only cold I wanted was the cold colour of Dr. Crane's eyes, and since I had not died I would have to continue existing, not living, with the suffering brought about by my desire. Nothing was all I had, and now it was all I could go back to. It was apparent that forward was not a path open for my bare, blood-encrusted feet. I was sorry.

There was no point in continuing to stand. I knew that the mud spiders hiding under the stones would want nothing to do with my poor taste and meat less body, so I could only try to enjoy the squish that mimicked the man's brain as my weight fell into the grime. My eyelashes and hair were so heavy with water I wished a chill would spread across and just freeze me, so that I might be put into a museum somewhere. On display for people to look at and mock at my obvious stupidity for not wearing a jacket in the pouring rain. That was the fate I would be satisfied with, for it was one I deserved.

Sadness consumed my shaking body, and when a rather smart umbrella shielded the rain I only felt even more worthless. The glint of a polished revolver stole my attention as it disappeared into the pocket of an all too familiar Burberry trench. My gaze followed the sleek dress from the harsh mud, to his pockets, to the shirt collar befit with a sleek tie, ultimately settling upon his once despised face. I was now fully aware of what I must have looked like, and can't say I didn't expect a brow to raise in suspicion as he assessed my current state. Bloody and freezing I sat before him, as I had done before in submission, while he simply put his free hand inside the warmth of his coat pocket. His voice was sharp but paternal as he sighed audibly into the blackness.

"So," he bobbed up and down on his heels. I gazed at him absent-mindedly while he smiled weakly, not knowing exactly how I would react to his sarcasm. I wish I had the stamina to tell him his clear and expert marksmanship was appreciated a great deal more than his poor taste in greetings, but alas nothing of the sort filled my lungs. And as I sat in the dark mud at his feet my mind just played back scenes from within Dr. Crane's car. Over and over again. I could memorize and point out to an audience what exactly was the turning point _and_ what I had done to upset him so greatly. Everything was too much, and when Lucas bent down to pick me up I did something so unlike myself that I might as well have been watching from the sidelines, I hit his hand away, out into the cold rain, and just lay down, surrendering my body to the grip of the dirt. I felt so strange, and so full of things I did not understand that I couldn't find my own body accountable for its actions.

The sea rippled as Lucas displaced mud and sat down next to me in the middle of this ghetto ocean. He cleared his throat, "Oz wasn't all you expected it to be?" If my chest didn't hurt so badly and mud wasn't seeping into my mouth I would have laughed. A string tied to the wrist of my heart pulled my upper body towards my driver who looked so warm in his trench. "Don't be silly Lucas," his ears perked up, "the scarecrow got a brain for his efforts… I just get to go home." I watched behind fogged sight as his smile faded. I was sad to see it go but so glad when he picked me up within his arms and layed me in the back seat of the car, the nice warm car. My skin felt like snakes as the tingling sensation built from my feet up. The familiar sound of the BMW engine turned my stomach and I only wished that wherever the good doctor was that it was far away from the eager hands of Commissioner Gordon and his vicious hounds.


	19. Chapter 17

I do not own any part of the Batman franchise, just simply a fan with some sort of plan c: So Please Enjoy! 3

It was a wonder of sorts that my car managed not to crash into anything on its rapid way out of the back alley, away from that blasted girl whom I only partially wanted to leave. 'Its' does, in fact, prove to be a most proper identification, for the BMW really seemed to drive itself. The pedal would reach out and surround my foot, pulling it towards the metal face, increasing speed and pushing my conscious further back into oblivion. The only thing I wanted was for my stick-like companion to be back in this crazed German engineering, even though I tried to avoid combining nature and the interior. A distinct redness still hung on my cheek where she had found such ill-begotten authority to strike me, her superior in time, and it only brought about a childish passive-aggression. For it was quite clear that I couldn't really be rash enough to confront her directly on such matters as my obvious lack of action. I only wish that it were not so apparent, and that the action I had decided upon would have manifested differently than throwing her out. At least I could find a piece of solace in the notion of stopping; movement would have been a pinch more outlandish and the most absurd of ungentlemanly behaviours; rather than a simple bout with _male-driven fact-based logic_.

Red traffic lights had no meaning as my European license plate vanished in a blur under the post cameras, and down a corner. It was surprising that I hadn't annihilated any specific persons as my driving emulated, I know its lowbrow, a bat out of hell. In a way the whole situation was humourous, because if a bat did, in fact, fly out past Cerberus one could find high probabilities of doubt that the winged demon would be encased in a BMW 320i. Laughing tried its best to escape, but the concave of my chest was evidence enough that the path to my mouth was blocked by inordinate amounts of personal belongings that my upset heart had thrown into the hall of my diaphragm, in a rather magnificent display of haphazard toil. Credit was due to the small organ for its classic display of hatred, but as its enraged yelling echoed off the inside of my skull I only wanted it to stop beating. At least then I would be equipped with days until the end of time to consider what to do next. I assumed the Batman could live without the Scarecrow. He already has his agenda full with Jack and his constant appearances throughout Gotham to even bother assisting Gordon in finding me. I was no longer a top priority, which was truly a calming feeling.

That is, until I recalled why exactly Gordon had been searching for me in the first place.

My eyes shifted nervously to the left and fell upon a blank passenger seat. The mere thought of its emptiness caused a wave-like projection to appear on the reverse side of sight. The emptiness of the black alley where I watched her sullen expression disappear, the intellectual emptiness of the loathing I still harboured for that whore Sherry, and the impolite emptiness of forcing a good lady into the freezing rain. All of them swarmed around my head like bees, drowning out any city noises with their deafening buzz, and pushing my mind to the _greater_ edge of madness as it combined with the vindictive screaming of my heart below. Each of the out of body beings urged me to turn around and go back to get her, but it seemed none of the translucent orbs knew that I had no idea where I had left Eleanor. In this fit of anger I didn't bother to keep track of how many right turns my car had performed, which left me with no viable options to bring her back to where she belonged. I know spite masked my comment about that swine, Lucas, finding her if she stayed in the same place, but I was starting to hope that he actually did, before the perverse men that lurked in shadows, searching for a victim that would appease their grotesque enjoyments, found her first. The last thing I needed was an onslaught of guilt shadowing me with its heavy rains, for I was already saturated with sorrow and longing. Two of the feelings that were all too common in my life.

All I could manage to think about was Eleanor, standing in the rain without even a coat, falling victim to the displeasing grips of black mud. If I could find her the two of us would have to go to Prada and purchase something for I knew that my obsessive compulsive manner would never allow mud to find its way into the interior, but luckily for that psychological upset there would be no worry. Chances are there would be two fates: one being untimely death and the other an untimely return to that satanic castle just beyond the dispirited collections of the ghetto. I had hoped for the second, seeing as how it was the more forgiving of them both, although there was no way I could simply stroll back into Ryan without having to swallow my pride and apologize to the woman who had created a false sense of rank for herself. No, I would be needing another to do it before me and _that_ was final.

I halted my car under a curled fire escape – dangerous I know – and retrieved my phone from the pocket of my coat, which had found its own comfortable spot to curl up on the back seat opposite where Nygma had been previously. And as I held the little thing aloft in my unusually translucent fingers my forehead met the steering wheel, bringing a vibration through my brain. I was surprised that police had never found it prudent to confiscate a villain's phone, for obviously it would contain connections to other various assortments of criminal behaviour, therefore perhaps granting the pigs another lead, but no matter. It was obvious that Jack would be indisposed, after having just fled the same scene as the two of us pale twig ghosts, and Edward didn't know Eleanor from any other melanin-devoid woman in this hellish city of ours. I would need another. One that I knew had done business with the girl beforehand, which really only left _two_ men due to the fact that using croc to comb the under dwelling would draw too much undesirable attention, and the Penguin was just in poor taste.

The scarlet highlight bar shifted back and forth over two names that I had spied earlier in a doctor's penmanship scrawled across various fragments of loose leaf paper, stuffed inside miscellaneous leather bound volumes that sat, perched on the shelves below the dominating fresco in the low floor of the Ryan lab. A Dr. Victor Fries, who had received his freezing compound from Eleanor, and a close confidant of mine - Jervis Tetch, who, it seemed, had sought my companion's personal opinion on the physics of his mind control technology. It did strike me as odd that he would question a Biochemist about Physics, but scientists have to ban together in this city, or else be forced into employment by a tyrant like Falcone – which never meant proper business. Naturally I would choose Jervis because I knew him in greater detail than the other, whose eyes were colder than mine could ever aspire to be. Besides Gotham's Mad Hatter owed me a favour, and I intended to collect.

Through the receiving end a loud meshing of electronica ultra-lounge music and girls' giggling came through and decided to have a mini celebration inside my ear canal, which proved most unpleasant. His voice was hollowly disturbed but still greeted me in a most gentlemanly fashion as I told him of a favour I required. Luckily he agreed, which was most excellent news, but unfortunately he asked that I come to him at one of the city's worst underworld playgrounds. A place that I would never desire to go again, but at this point I just wanted his service in finding what I had so carelessly lost, and that in itself proved a forceful shove in his direction. The last suit I wore there had to be dry cleaned three times, and still the arrant scent of the Marquis' perfume clung to the expensive fibers, and it was no question this suit would have a similar fate. That short cut to Hell must have been where I contracted inescapable thoughts of such atrocious sodomy. To think that I was returning was a feat in its own, but my heart poked a cat's paw into my lung assuring my conscience that this little mal-adventure would be worth it in the end.

I started the engine, savoring the sound, and turned around, heading towards one of the most undesirable regions in all of Gotham, but also, it seemed, one of the most popular for single men. My only wish was that I would have moved Cardinal Bergemont up in my schedule, for I knew that I was going to be in need of a catholicon, perhaps even two.

The trip into what I always presumed to be Hell's inexpensive closet proved even more hateful than I remember. Dirty lamps overflowing with dead beetles lined either side of the ramshackle boulevard as I was sure my car attracted undesirable attention, like a gallant man in amongst petty thieves. Suspension was a necessity as I slowed to thirty on the protruding cobble. The only way I could actually remember where this establishment was located was to count how many broken windows stuck out, like a most brutal snaggletooth, from the upper floors of the dilapidated town homes, to the right of the road. It was a small place, hidden behind a garden wall belonging with the second to last home in the displeasing collection, that became easier to find after the scent of Assyrian leaves found your humbled form, dragging you inwards toward the mouth of jagged wooden teeth.

Now, the size of this seedy place did nothing to effect its fabulous valet service, which was the saving grace, for your car was anything but fine if left unattended in this corridor of sinful pleasures. The service man was a nice gentleman and proved rather intrigued by the European alterations to the seating inside. His pudgy hand allowed for a platform no realistic key could miss as the other gestured for me to take my height down the brick path, where my mind recalled a series of nauseating twists before I would reach the entrance, hidden a quarter mile from the street. You see that was the defensive styling of the whole design. No policeman, if brave enough to journey into this devilish pandemonium, would ever imagine that a walkway so long could exist in the simple yard between this building and the one behind it – but that was the genius of the whole operation. The entire walk to the door was a downward slope, twisting and spiraling into the deeper reaches of the underworld along the tail of some awful dragon infected with mange. Simple glass sconces illuminated the hairpin turns every now and again, but the darkness of the brick cave proved forgiving to the eye, for if light struck every corner no human being could possibly with stand the horror. That proved the most enjoyable part.

Since the early nineteen hundreds this building has had a simple purpose – a gentleman's club, and the history was widely apparent. In the 1920's this elongated trip underground was the path guards took to dispose of lifeless women who had fallen victim to their aggressors. I kept my hands within their respected pockets, for the walls were frozen catacombs adorned with the disembodied heads and femurs of all the unfortunate harlots. Some of the bodies were preserved in formaldehyde and posted at the turns, humourously pointing the way for any lost traveler that might have made a wrong turn and ended up face to face with the new pile of bodies that were accumulating to show off the vile patronage of this most secret café. One of them bore a striking resemblance to Sherry, which caused my feet to stop, placing myself before the hideous being. It hosted no eyes and no tongue, with skin that folded like a fan around her sunken mouth and beneath a head of hideous matted hair. I smiled. Her skeletal left forearm was barely hanging on, as the joint had disintegrated, and it pleaded with me to take hold.

I revealed a small Prada handkerchief from the inner breast pocket of my jacket and surrounded the wrist with the smooth fabric. Splinters stabbed my palm as the bone seemed to just fall off and crumble onto the split stone below, and I couldn't help but wear the biggest smirk my face could possibly manage. My hand turned over as if under a disembodied order, rolling the marrow-less cast around within the pure white, as I shifted and looked upon even more sorrow filled empty eye sockets. "Well my dear," I wondered if the shriveled prune still had ears, "It is so very reassuring to see you living up to your full potential." The upper crests of its skull bent downward in sadness as the filed fingertips lodged themselves within the leathered flesh of the soft, upper palate. I apologized flatly and turned on my heel. In my mind the scene was nothing but laughable, for there she was behind me, ever so promiscuous Miss Squires, stiff as a board, with yet another thing in her mouth.

A handful of turns later I had finally come upon the door that stood guard against everything civil. Out of all the cracked bricks holding back dirt from this diseased cave these examples of masonry were perhaps the worst. It was as if no mortar had ever been poured. One could lose an eye on any of the molded corners that stuck on like prehistoric weaponry from either side of the tattered wooden doorframe. The lumber itself looked unrelentingly shabby as termites buried inside and the cool blue paint jumped to the ground in little scraps at my feet. The flimsy doors suffered from the same neglect but in a lessened manner, for they had been sealed after the randomly sized playing cards were silk-screened onto the façade, still a number of years prior. It was artistically done but still did nothing to take away from the harsh ill feeling that sprang out from behind. There was no call bell nor handle nor lock, it was as if the original construction had pilfered the garden gate from the world above and transplanted it down here. Then again that was a creative idea. The logic of this café was that if one had managed to find it they should be allowed entrance. Unfortunately that meant anyone could be inside, and it was not always the most pleasant display of guests. The gargantuan heads of iron brads pocked the wood and made for an easy step stool that would lead your eyes upward to the top of the door and eventually to the lamp above, it too hosting a fair number of dead beetles. However, the main focus was the faded hand painted sign that let one know they had finally reached Hell's smoking section. The sadistic face of Lewis Carroll's Cheshire Cat glared down to you, burning holes in your skin with his eager eyes and tearing your singed face from the bone with its sharp grin, all the while graciously inviting you inside for a water pipe and charged fornication. Inside all of the wonders of lust and wrath melded together, giving unholy birth to acts of frivolity that always ended badly, stretching its long arm up to the surface to swipe another young girl when it had lost one of its own, only to have to steal multiple times through out the night. This was the Cheshire Café, notoriously wild and the only place in town that served Darjeeling after midnight.

I felt my phone vibrate in its pocket and took hold of it, only to have it host Jervis' name in the scarlet highlight bar hovering above a message that read:

"I know you're outside. It only takes _you_ 15 minutes to get anywhere."

The tiny men inside my head turned the cranks, allowing my eyes to roll as I pushed aside the right hand door, covering the face of the Queen of Hearts with my most unacceptably white fingers. I would have to watch carefully or they would be painted red in an instant.

As my vacant expression watched the door jump aside, all spirits disappeared and I couldn't think of anything but her, for when venturing into Hell nothing is more suitable than a companion who reflects light and I wouldn't settle for anyone else beside me.


	20. Chapter 17 Part 2

I do not own any part of the Batman franchise, just simply a fan with some sort of plan c: So Please Enjoy! 3

Inside, the best way to describe it would be to call it the inside of a stomach on some sort of vanadium derivative, while reading _Through the Looking Glass_. The walls were a deep crimson spotted with tiny dots of black and under foot were tiles adorned, here and there, with English roses. Every piece of ill classed furniture was decorated with some sort of playing card motif, while the ceiling was covered in silk tree leaves that sprouted from a real oak trunk, preserved in the middle of the wall opposite the entrance. Through the low lying fragrant smoke the eye would follow the grains in the wood, up into the green, until finally being shoved into the back of your skull by a close encounter with the largest of Cheshire Cats grinning down at you with an outstretched paw as if to say 'I've got you now.' And indeed I was trapped, middle-eastern smoke curling its tentacles around my wrist and pulling me deeper into this abyss of fantasy.

As I rounded the small wall that blocked out the cold from the entrance the whole scene hit at once, and I would have fallen over if not for a most intriguing man dressed as the White Rabbit. He smiled as he straightened his surprisingly magnificent waistcoat and replaced his engraved gold watch within the protective hold of the high pocket. His ears extended two feet above our heads creating a canopy of white fur as he introduced himself and asked what I was in this hellhole for, business or pleasure. To which I flatly replied, "Business, for no pleasure involves a woman under nine." He laughed heartily and placed his mitten hands on his hip, staring at my loosened tie, "Then _you_ must be Dr. Crane."

I wasn't surprised that Jervis would have made my arrival noted but I did find interest in the idea that this man was so confident of who I was. At first he took a few steps over a rose and down into the beginnings of yet another lair, constantly looking over his shoulder to gage my progress, his nose moving back and forth, the motion shaking his foot long whiskers up and down from their indentations in his cheek bones. It wasn't as if I wanted to prolong my visit but everything that surrounded the two of us bore such grotesqueness that one could not pull their eyes from it. The giant pipe that sat in the middle of the room, perched on a small open faced flower, spouted fragrant smoke into the air which condensed and rained intoxicatingly down upon the outstretched tongues of the uninhibited seated below. Their eyes were dark, without any discernable line between the iris and pupil, and the only evidence anyone would need to know that they were under the influence of something truly mystifying. My body would not move. The only thought that filled my mind was one of observing some sort of far eastern circus side show ritual as the ill mannered men took hold of their young courtesans, disappearing behind a veil of thick purple haze. I folded my fingers over as a tightness developed about my right upper arm and pulled me into the cavernous corridor second from the left. His white feet marched the two of us down into the cerulean blue light of the one chandelier, dangerously suspended from a much too weak beam, as he told me in a rushed tone not to stare. I knew my expression must have been one of intriguing quality for my brow rose in distaste at this giant rabbit who felt the where-with-all to be _so kind_ as to enlighten me on what was a social custom and what qualified as boarish. But then again he was an expert on things of ill favour.

However, there were way too many things to stare at to heed his advice and the Marquis finally had his field day.

I was sure this would be the place where the sodomist inside my skull could find peace, for there was an onslaught of perversities to satisfy his every carnal desire. Still under hold of the rabbit, we passed by open black doors that would have provided a cover for overdosed seizure victims now left to party with the Grim Reaper and his niche for speed metal. The men's eyes were pure white with protruding veins and their faces defiled with foamed saliva that seeped downward onto their starched lapels. I contortioned backward to get a final glimpse of the cloaked man piercing the crown of the inferior's head with his rusted scythe as the rabbit continued down to the end of the hall. The two of us passed more open doors as his eyes were fixated forward and mine wandered aimlessly from red room to eggplant room.

I began to be grateful Eleanor was still in a back alley somewhere, for anywhere was better than here.

Men seated in ornate chairs, their faces painted with deranged pleasure as their swollen purple heads disappeared then reappeared out from the mouths of unforgivably young girls, while others looked on with hungry eyes and loosened waists. That was the only sight that filled the remaining three rooms. The miscellaneous girls crouched to the floor in their various pastels dresses and knee socks, as the strobe of the piercing light above reflected off their pistoning blonde hair held back by a thin ribbon.

I would almost go so far as to say I was excited to finally reach the room where this life sized rabbit told me I would find Jervis, for I have no idea how much longer my mind could tolerate the foreign orgasms of beast-like men and distastefully young women that enveloped my head like plastic, suffocating me while they laughed in joyous celebration. Even having my earlobe bitten off by my lightweight companion would have been first choice over this, but it was when the giant rabbit turned and made his way back to the front did I remember why I was here at all.

The door was overbearing and extended fully, from rosed tile to weak rafters, while attracting attention not only with its top hat silk-screening but with the two impossibly large men that stood like Royal Guards on either side of the saucer shaped handles. Each set of shoulders would have filled the doorframe easily and their faces sat stoic under newly stitched foreheads. The man on the left had an unforgivably round face and incisors that hung from his top jaw, down past his lower lip. His girth was coated in a casual suit as his folded hands bore gloves similar to the ones Gotham's Boss Tweed worshipper wore. His facial hair stood on end all about his mouth and upon a second time over it clicked immediately. The _walrus_. There was such humour in my friend's obsession that it only made sense for the man on my right to be a carpenter of sorts, his costume given away by the over-sized mallet that leaned against the deep crimson wall beside him. Naturally I longed to ask the two of them if they had seen any scallops pass by, but their foreheads grabbed my attention and all that came from my mouth was a simple greeting, of which I'm sure they paid no attention.

I suppose lobotomy was more of a solution to henchmen troubles than actual control cards. When asked, the two men stepped aside and I took hold of the saucer knob, granting my height entrance into the lair of Carroll's tea party personified.

If one thing surprised me about Jervis Tetch it was his attention to detail.

The room itself had a similar style to the main foyer a few feet above, as in it had the same real oak trunk with sprawling silk leaves - but four of them all stationed at a respective corner, the leaves meshing together in the center of the ceiling, dripping downward in the form of a small lantern, which scattered light weakly against the harsh black walls. The floor was a handsome Brazilian pine with a fancifully woven rug inlaid upon it, all supporting a fabulous dark cherry table with various tea necessities and brilliant silver trays overflowing with majestic loose leaf. Serenity found my aching head in the form of the sweet scent that hung heavily in the air as I removed my jacket and handed it to a man dressed, quite humourously, as the Dormouse. Overly round mouse ears with a card stuffed into the canal was enough for me to understand the idea and I stepped lightly over the panels and into the shallow light, casting a rail thin shadow over the man I was so adamant to see.

His form was slouched into the high-backed couch, a content smile across his lips as two young girls sat either side, one holding his hand to her mouth and biting his finger tip, while the other simply stroked the length of his arm as he told her how lovely she was. "Lovely indeed," I thought to myself with an annoyed snort as I managed to cross the room and prepare for a scene of manic pedophilia all in one breath. The chair across from my friend seemed to reach out and smother me with its overstuffed arms, refusing to let free my random movements of struggle. The hatter laughed out rightly and twirled his finger through the hair of the girl on the right, motioning flamboyantly for a gaunt man dressed, once again rather humourously, as the March Hare to pour me a cup of tea. I thanked him kindly, but refused to take it upon noticing the leaves had what looked like a chalaza restraining them to the sides of the porcelain. Frankly, with the events of this evening I wasn't terribly hungry either. I simply wanted to know if he would do me this favour.

His top hat reached towards the ceiling with a strained, blue banded, wrist all the while shading his stringy blonde hair from the flicker. I coughed audibly so as to try and get his attentions away from the no count girls covering his starched green collar with opalescent lipstick, but it seemed the high walls of fabric blocked out all noise except for the kitten-like purrs of ill-fated sirens. No matter, I thought, it wasn't as if I had anywhere to be, no one adamantly waiting, breathless, for my return, so even with my patience running thin I continued to watch my friend's ghastly behaviour, giving up the struggle against the arms of the chair. His smile stretched from ear to ear under his oversized nose, that gave him a dweebish appearance, which was a rather kind observation seeing as how I was well aware of my lack of authority in being attractive, and therefore had no real ability to say he was unfortunate looking. In fact, I had never really considered it until this moment, watching small hands trace up and along his clavicle, down under his black ascot to who knows where. All my mind ever settled on when considering Jervis Tetch was that fateful chess match in the Asylum, where he beat me after persuading Croc to distract me long enough for that unseemingly coy cheater to switch his king with my knight. One doesn't just forget something as such. Especially since I had never lost to anyone prior. The whole matter was just ridiculous.

"So, dear friend," he finally broke the silence that had filled the room with sulfate, "you look terrible." His long hand removed his hat and threw it to the girl on his left as he ordered the two premature harlots away so he and I could have an uninterrupted _gentleman's conversation_. Whatever that meant, for at this moment I failed to see any. His smile didn't erase itself, even after the girls reluctantly left, as if pulled along by some rudimentary executioner dressed as an Ace of spades. I watched with my head in my hands as his eyes darted from one gleaming silver plate to the next, looking for something that I was not all to sure existed. The table separating us was littered with teacakes and other various sweets, of which I knew neither of us liked, all acting as a moat around a fantastic Edwardian style teapot that was raised up on top of a small flame. The silver was pristine up until a horrid fingerprint was spotted under the brim and the two of us went into an obsessive-compulsive panic. I'm sure Jack would have found humour in the whole scene, as two fully-grown men wore wrinkles in their foreheads at the expense of a teakettle. I suppose in another situation it might have been humourous, but luckily Jervis ordered the Hare to come over and polish it with his ears, while pouring him a new fragrant brew.

"So, here I am hosting Gotham's premiere master of all things terrifying, and yet you are the one who looks to be the victim of shock." My hands found their way through my hair and to the nape of my neck, pushing my head down onto my lap as I longed to be even half as relaxed as he was. "I need a favour," I spoke into my Prada pants that did indeed look horrific, only to look back to my companion and see an even larger smile stamped inside his pale lips. The porcelain cup imprisoned in his grasp raised in toast as he laughed about the day having finally come where the psycho pharmacologist has to seek the aid of the physicist. My eyes must have stretched out their sockets for he was right, and now embarrassment held fast to my growing list of things appearing in my face. My chin found its home in my palm as I reached out to retrieve my cup of tea with the protein strands in it, rolling the mound of leaves at the bottom around lazily, as the high collars of Jervis' shirt acted as the perfect blinders for tea consumption.

"Have you finally decided to give up toxins for mechanics then?" he asked with a grin.

"No," I said flatly while crushing another crumpet into the already overflowing cup, "It is something a bit more… urgent, in a sense."

With this he set down the cup ever so carefully onto a snow white placing and rose a quizzical brow. "Gordon isn't still after you is he? I thought he gave up on you," he questioned in a tone that boasted a nervous twitch. It struck me then, rather harshly, that no one really knew what I had been up to these past few weeks, which meant I couldn't just assume that Jervis would know what I was hinting at. A hypothetical hand collided with my forehead as I told him Gordon had given up on having the search for me being a top priority. This seemed to comfort the hatter greatly, for his shoulders seeped backward in tranquility, perfectly timed with the Hare's removal the atomic bomb site of a teacup that was perched before me. A white-gloved hand rose to meet my friend's nose as he stared across the dark wood to me and assessed my appearance, making me feel generally uncomfortable. This must have been what it felt like to lay on the pointed couch across from my psychologist persona. No wonder all of my patients were so deathly afraid.

The white fingers traced down the sides of his heart shaped face as he asked me what could possibly be so important that it would convince me to come down to this part of town, for he was well aware of my obvious distaste of the entire scene. I didn't really want to tell him but there was no other way I could go about it, now that I was seated before him in his lair. Air expelled from my lungs to clear my nervous throat, already swelling with anxiety, as I took hold of a cup placing and started to tear off the floral edges. Immediately after I proposed the question I wished that I had thought of another way to go about apologizing for his face twisted with a mix of excitement and disbelief, pouring himself another cup of tea before choking on a stray bundle of tealeaves that had hidden in the clouded Darjeeling.

"Eleanor Ryan?" He asked breathlessly as the Hare patted him on a furiously shaking shoulder, "of course I've worked with her, everyone knows that the Ryan girl should be your first choice for anything chemical oriented. But… how would you… why would you possibly… OHH!" One could almost trace the outlines of the gears as they turned on the inside of his skull, and I only wished that I could have thrown a spoon into the mechanisms to stop his imagination from running rampant. To think I thought the smile he had been wearing before was large, truth be told it became obvious that I had no idea what I was dealing with. Had I known I was about to fall victim to an inquiry I would have brought a few note cards.

Just turn the wheel; I thought to myself, you'll be fine.

"Do you mean to tell me that Eleanor Ryan is the woman who broke you out of Arkham?" He laughed shortly at my simple yes answer. It was no secret that I wasn't going to be explaining anything that had to do with the feelings I had for the girl.

"So… does that mean you _like_ her?" My face turned bright red, and I knew there was no way to mask it, even though my subconscious tried by saying that it didn't know why that mattered. Jervis' eyes glimmered with a malicious sense of curiosity and I knew I was in for it now. Our entire fight from the car flashed on the screen of my sight while he continued his barrage of awkward questions, aware, I'm sure, that I wasn't paying attention. After an hour of unnecessary verbal arrows I admitted that I needed him to keep her company for a few nights, watch out for her and make sure nothing considerably tragic happened, to which he replied that he would only do if I admitted that I had feelings for her. Otherwise, he said while shrugging and spilling the contents of the teacup onto the polished wood panels, there would be no point in making sure that father of hers didn't just cut her head clear from her shoulders. I swallowed hard and the small tea strainer that I had in palm bent inward on itself squeezing wet clumps through the small holes. I didn't want to admit anything that would give away the fact that I did not wholly understand what was going on inside my mind, but with his proposition that would be exactly what I would have to do.

Awkward silence seemed to break through the door where I had entered and shout 'I'VE FOUND YOU!' as it settled into the chair to my right and just stared while prodding Jervis in the ribs and whispering into the green shield around his ear. The backs of my knees pressed against the leather and brought my shaking form to full height, only a few inches shy of the ceiling, as I said that I should have probably taken my leave an hour ago.

Jervis and the awkward silence smirked evilly as the hatter coughed and held up a small gingerbread cookie, breaking off the legs and licking the shelled lemon frosting from the tiny foot. "You know Jonathan… I wouldn't blame you if you did have feelings for the girl," I could feel the epinephrine seep from my ears as he started to nibble on the degraded pastry, "the few times I've been around her she's worn these skirts and _dear lord_ does she have the nicest legs." His eyes burrowed into me, trying to gage my response as he twisted the lower gingerbread body in between his index and middle finger. It was obvious what he was doing, but I still couldn't with stand this vile display of premeditated barbaric behaviour. Then again, she did have the most wonderful legs, and all my mind recalled were simple images of her reaching over the lab table for something, not important enough to remember, and admiring the curvature of her calf muscle presenting itself above her Prada heels. A shiver ran up my spine, turning at the nape and running all the way back down as he continued to smirk maliciously. The hatter knew for a fact the answer to his question, but seeing as how I never address direct questions he was only waiting for the opportunity to arise where he could say he had pried an answer from my dead lips. What a shame it would have to be like this.

I sighed and he put down the pastry legs, not paying attention to where for they splashed into his fourth cup of tea. My white hands were translucent again as my mind scanned through file cabinets full to the brim with previous dialogues in which I had answered a similar question, but everything that was put together seemed less than eloquent. My eyes reverted to the silver tray that embraced little pink mound sweets as Jervis' shoe tapped against the edge of the table, waiting.

My tie was crooked. I'm not even sure why I was still wearing one.

"Fine," my friend's smile perked up and disappeared behind interwoven fingertips, "I –."

He cut me off there, ordering the Dormouse to bring him his coat as he stood up and reposition his tall hat on the crown of his blonde hair. His collar still glowed from the pale white lipstick and he was positively reeking of pre-adolescence. I knew that I had gotten the favour I asked for, but it didn't help relieve the depression any. After all I still needed another individual to do my apologies with someone I cared about, and that in itself was a slap in the face much stronger than Eleanor's could ever hope to be.

"Don't you worry one bit," he laced his right arm around my protruding shoulder blades as he pulled the two of us back down the seedy hallway, "take a few days off from babysitting, we both know how much you love children, I've been meaning to pay the girl a visit anyway."

He tipped his hat, just enough for me to see that it was full of his invented cards, and slipped out the creaking front doors, leaving me to my own torments trapped inside a noose of mystical smoke.

Long fingers found their way to the knot at my neck, fiddling with it before removing it completely. I felt ill, literally green, although I knew with Jervis Eleanor would be in decent hands. She was, after all, about twenty-four.


	21. Chapter 18

I do not own any part of the Batman franchise, just simply a fan with some sort of plan c: So Please Enjoy! 3

The entire room was pitch black with the vague exception of the flickering images spewing in a direct pattern from the twenties projector. This was where I had found myself for a fair collection of days following that ill-fated meeting with Jervis. Indeed I was elated, as much as I could be, that he had agreed to do me this simple favour, but ever since leaving through those splintered doors I had been reconsidering my decision in all aspects of its obvious desperation.

I had messaged Jack a while ago but given the current state of things I was not all that motivated to go forth into the city. It wouldn't have mattered if I was scheduled to meet the Queen, it would still take a countless amount of caffeine to hoist my broken form from the single leather chair, which sat ominously in the middle of the empty room. It was obvious that in my absence I had forgotten the dreary atmosphere of my own apartment. With its black walls and low ceilings, forcing me to lean forward, all perched precariously above an unfinished, uninspiring pine floor covered with a generous amount of dust and cobwebs. There were only two rooms in the entire space – the one I was in at the moment and then a closet, which I suppose was really meant to be a bedroom. Unfortunately I had more suits than needed hours of sleep so the latter lost out. Too bad I suppose.

The shoulders of my jacket creased forward as it took all of my strength to transition from prone to standing. My eyes were fogged and stared blankly into the greyscale segments of breaking news scandals from years past. None of them were terribly interesting, in the modern sense, but each and every scene of malnourished children with malaria and rioters being beaten to death in the streets of some far away place reminded me… of her, and all I could do was freeze, resting my head in folded arms a top the piping hot projector. Pain seemed to seep back into the subconscious at this point, and I failed to even consider the horrid holes that were burning into the sleeves of the forsaken Hugo Boss. It was just another thing that I no longer cared about directly. I knew that my suit looked a fright, but compared with the very few still left in the closet it was by far the most presentable. The first time Gordon brought his hounds into this cave for me, I suppose I should have expected, his minions had taken a few parting gifts from the hunt.

A short laugh escaped me, as my sight remained glued to images of meager children dangling by their broken necks from the remains of a downed helicopter somewhere in Africa. 'I suppose this is befitting for you,' the Marquis said to me, as he seemed to return back into my mind from a prolonged excursion, 'no man ever scared anyone to death in a perfectly tailored suit.' The entire scene was just rudely entertaining as my throat choked on fits of hilarity brought about by the disturbed look in the imagination's expression, as he toured about the shoebox-like space in his seventeenth century heels. When his askew powdered wig vanished into the mirror image of a terribly bad actor portraying him in a film-grained manner I finally became aware of the scent of searing flesh. My height fell backward a few steps and brought the curled hands up into view. It became wildly apparent that during the interstellar mind trip, that was the untimely return of the Marquis, the vibrating film canisters had cut the fabric from the reverse side of my forearms, leaving behind only the pith of viciously burnt skin.

My heart pushed itself against the back of my concave rib cage to avoid being struck by the errant somersaulting now being performed by the stomach. It was a disgusting sight, and I wouldn't have been the least bit surprised if all seven layers just slipped, ever so casually, from the bone itself. But for the life of me, there was no pain. Pain would have meant that I was suffering. Suffering would have meant that I was living. And in _that_ sense of the word I hadn't taken a clinical breath in some twenty-one years.

My body collided with the ugly pine floor, and there I remained, like a chalk outline. Just letting the dust cake onto the crying skin of my open arms, turning to mud upon mixing with the plasma now coating the fashion-less area.

I didn't even know what time it was anymore, and I found myself no longer caring.

The café where jack had suggested we meet for coffee wasn't the usual one on the corner of Mission and Woz, but another closer to where I suspected he and Evelyn were. No matter, it wasn't as though my tongue was in its proper form anyway. What was a cup of garden-variety espresso in comparison to the delectable elegance that I was used to? Given the prices on the menu that hung from the brick wall above a steaming example of classic machinery it was obvious that I would not be paying for the elegance I was used to either. The staff, however, proved most surprising when a gaunt man eerily similar to Jervis' March Hare companion set down perhaps the largest cup of espresso I had ever seen. Naturally, I was appalled at this café's break in serving customs, but I didn't harbour enough energy to complain.

My hands found the way to their respected spots on either temple as my mind fell from my eye sockets, sliding off the interior of the glasses, barricading retinas, and down into the molten black sea steaming with opaque qualities. The bridge on my face cried out for a relief, and I begrudgingly agreed, removing the thin frames and placing them beside the birdbath while I caught a full glimpse of my less than spectacular forearms. The dirt from the floor had nestled itself deep within the crevasses caused by the protruding screws from the projector, making me look no different from a Dalmatian running after a fire truck. An uncharacteristically heavy sigh escaped my lungs as I longed to just melt into the espresso upon the table. Therefore surrendering myself to evaporation and disappearing into the Gotham air, already saturated with nothing more than despair. A miscellaneous sugar cube found its way into the ebb and flow, catching my attention, as I was immediately envious of its quick vanishing. It wasn't as though this city's underworld even needed me anymore. I wasn't even sure that it ever needed me at all, that I was just spit out from the volcano of depressing childhoods into a line, which held fast to no immediate end.

Steam clouded my vision as the lighter currents in the coffee formed a waved image of the only thing I wanted most. She would blink every now and then as though there was something caught in her eye, then peer out through the surface, and smile. 'Look at me Dr. Crane,' she spoke in an even lighter voice than her own, 'I seem to be floating in a most peculiar way.' I didn't rightly understand why my mind would associate a response from her with David Bowie, of all people, but even with the hatred of the man broiling in the back of my mind the statement from her proved most endearing, if not immediately heart breaking. After what I had done to her… I wouldn't be surprised if she no longer wanted my company. That hurt more than anything else that could possibly happen, I would sooner welcome being tossed into an enormous blender. The lacerating blades would be almost as satisfying as what I assumed her touch would be, the one I would never know.

I continued to stare, hypnotized, at the simple image of circling rings, which acted as her eyes, completely foreign to anything that would have been occurring around me. In that moment nothing was of more interest, for it was the closest I had been to her in a fortnight, the closest I had been to anything that remotely resembled peace.

"CRANE!" the sudden attack on my ears would have caused me to fall from my chair had I not been encased in a booth. My hands raced to grab at a non-existent tie as my eyes rose to meet with the blurred image of who I assumed was Jack. Late as per usual. He laughed quietly, so as to not give himself away to any of these patrons of the unfamiliar café, and adjusted into a more comfortable position. Any amount of joy should have become apparent inside at the sight of my friend but it seemed that I had none left as a vice tightened inside my chest once I noticed that Eleanor's image had sunk to the bottom of my still potentially overflowing cup. It was as though these barbarians, functioning under the disguise of humble coffee shop employees, were just trying to tease me into crying – to be presented with something you covet only to have it taken back as if it had been brought to you by mistake. How rude these men were, and how sorry they would be after they found out that their names had all been scribbled down on the interior of my skull.

Jack's eyes traced over my appearance as I made a weak effort to ask him to be a little less rash, which he took as my pathetic attempt to ask him to be less frightening, which indeed there was no denying he had scared me a terrible amount just now. But that was my second point. "I had no idea the master of fear was so jumpy," he said playfully while laughing in a more quiet manner again. Rings appeared on the surface of the dark brew as his foot tapped against the base of the table in a rhythmic motion of one one two one. Obviously he desired to be here even less than I did, but he did keep company with Evelyn and if anyone in the city had talked with Eleanor it most likely would have been her. That in itself made Jack the best choice. His tone was slightly aggravated when he questioned as to why I wanted to meet with him so suddenly but changed for the lighter when he proposed the always-enjoyable event of killing random people for no apparent reason. I continued to keep my staring match with the espresso as I considered the therapeutic aspects of such an outing, but sadly there was just no interest on my behalf.

"No," I replied flatly. I wasn't exactly positive why I despised direct questions.

Air expelled itself quite rapidly from my friend's lungs as he acted, in an overly shocked way, taken aback by my lack of interest. However, my mind paid no attention as the espresso seemed to poke its head out from below the surface and beckon me to come closer so as to hear what it had to say to me. The little being peaked my interest, for I wondered if it had any hint as to where …

"Alright, what's going on with Eleanor?" Jack's voice had captured back the annoyed air from before as his foot tapped against the base of the table in a sharper pace. He had no idea what he had just unleashed inside my head. I wouldn't have been too terribly surprised if the entirety of my skull just collapsed from an extreme change in pressure. The rings clouding the surface of the espresso changed sources and drowned the tiny being inside the coffee as my only desire was to leap across the table, in a very impolite act, and shake him back and forth until he divulged to me what he knew, everything he knew that I did not. Anxiety and I couldn't stand to be so far out of the loop.

"She's spoken of me?" I only longed to convince my features that it was acceptable to smile, "You must tell me what she has said!" The urgency of my tone combated the calm of his as I explained everything that had happened, what seemed like an eternity ago, from me not allowing her to go after the two of them, to her slapping me across the face, and then finally… throwing her out of the car. Although I didn't wish to say the conclusion because I knew whichever way one looked at it I was made out to be the villain, even though that was always the case. This particular situation mattered most.

Jack just stared at me, in disbelief, and I couldn't exactly blame him either. "That probably wasn't the most chivalrous move on your part," he laughed, "and to think I always thought you had such great manners." He traced his fingers across his lips and raised them to the ceiling, signaling the waiter who didn't seem to notice him above a tray that overflowed with stray cups. His brow furrowed in a new level of annoyance as he, no doubt, turned the volume down on me going on and on about how I was going insane without having her in my life, to make everything the way it should be. She was my ticket to the good life that Plato had always rambled on about; everyone knew it… except for her.

"Don't be silly Crane," the sentence spilled from aboard an amused laugh, "you _are_ insane." My mind reeled at such a simple answer, one I hadn't really considered until now. 'Get the man a prize,' the Marquis said to me as he massaged my shoulders, reaching out from the back of my blown open skull. I gave Jack a 'save-it-for-later' glance and then surrendered my head to the pull of the espresso, introducing my forehead to the gleam of the table below. The all too familiar migraine put its single foot through the gaping hole and kicked around in my brain as it tried to make his arrival noted. The only person who could rightly help me was seated across the scape and I failed to harbour any real courage to ask him to relay a _stupid_ message. Dear lord, it was just as my grandmother had told me so many times, the broken record of my days as a boy.

"You. Are. Pathetic." Over and over still, screaming through the barred doors of that abandoned church, filled to the molding rafters with armies of crows. It all returned like a flood to my memory, pushing the Marquis down into the depths. Dirt floors covered in bits of damp hay, wrought iron fixtures bequeathed with barely there candles that smelt of whale oil, all brought together at the base of a diseased altar bearing the resemblance of Jesus Christ, an all seeing figure who, ironically, hosted no eyes. The light from the café broke through my fingers just as the sun had done through the holes in the roof, under the failing bell. I'm sure I must have looked ridiculous, a grown adult sitting at a table with his head flat against the grain, undeniably ill. "Please Jack," in all honesties I was speaking more to the wood than my friend, "I don't know what to do."

In that moment I understood that it was true, I really had no plan. And it was then that upon touching my face I realized that something had come over me that I didn't wholly recognize, a water-like substance from my eyes. It seemed I really was a boy again, alone in that miserable 'house of salvation.'

"Listen," his voice was the policeman that eventually found me, and let me free from that dungeon of piety, "you need to talk to her." My breath stopped short and speaking was impossible. So simple, such simple advice for a task that I knew I could not perform. His eyes fell upon my shaking shoulders and narrowed as I assumed he was aware that I wasn't paying attention to him, using the table as a mediator for my pathetic excuse for not going back and apologizing first hand. It obviously didn't entertain him as much as it comforted me, avoiding direct eye contact with someone who I knew was right. The vibrations from his hand as it knocked on the table were absorbed into my skull and only made me recall what it was like to ride up past the sixty-seventh floor of the Ryan building. _Eleanor_, I thought, and it was all over.

Jack stood from his chair in a rush and swooped down upon my shirt collar, hoisting my wasted skeleton into the air. I would have helped lessen my dead weight but for the life of me I couldn't focus on anything but his face, which twisted grotesquely until transforming into the disgusting face of the reagent director of Psychology at Gotham University. Only this time I wasn't being fired. "LISTEN TO ME!" He yelled, attracting the surprised eyes of the patrons near by, "you need to talk to her." I laced my dirt-coated fingers around his wrist as his eyes burrowed into my empty ones. Thoughts raced through my mind but it became suddenly apparent that none of my excuses would be sufficient for him, and no English spewed from my dry tongue. "Alright," he licked his lips in agitation as he adjusted his arms, "I'll set something up okay?" My head fell backwards as the blood drained from my ears. "It's obvious to both of us that you can't talk to the woman you love in the state you're in," the edge of my mouth twitched as it tried desperately to smile, "you need to apologize, and for god's sake stop this sulking!" He relinquished his grip on me and let my limp height fall back into the booth as he turned and signaled for the waiter, who didn't dare ignore him this time around. I suppose in a sense all I really needed was for Jack to beat the crap out of me before it finally got through to me, only he hadn't really hit me. I glanced down my chest and realized that this was probably the worst I had looked in quite sometime. What hung off my shoulders shouldn't have qualified as a jacket and the collar of my shirt was frayed. I tried my best to adjust the hideous tie about my neck, but it was beyond cure as I felt Jack's brow rise and rolled my eyes upward to meet his. "What?" I asked like an idiot as his lips curled into a smirk. He enlightened me to the fact that I might want to do a bit of shopping before I went back to Eleanor, seeing as how with her eye for matching labels there was high doubt she would even take time away to listen to me if I presented myself as some sort of heathen to style. A short laugh escaped my lips as the waiter brought Jack the two coffees he ordered with a ferociously shaking hand. It was a wonder that none of the molten caffeine spilt into my friend's lap, but no matter. I stood to leave, looking at my spotted forearms once more, then to Jack who looked at me with an interested gaze.

"Thank you," I said while picking off one of the many pieces of lint from my jacket lapel, "If you wouldn't mind, I dare not deem this as an appropriate outfit for church." I turned on my heel; there was no need for explanation for he was already well aware of what came before Eleanor in my schedule.


	22. Chapter 18 Part 2

I do not own any part of the Batman franchise, just simply a fan with some sort of plan c: So Please Enjoy! 3

Shopping for a new suit had taken up most of the day following the coffee shop, seeing as how I refused to leave it overnight to get tailored. The store clerk at Hugo Boss was nice enough, but took the convincing of her superior to grant me the service that I requested. That idiot girl, she was obviously unaware as to my kingly patronage to her place of work, but I didn't concern myself with the ordeal, for eventually I exited through the front glass doors on St. Anthony's Street, right as Gotham's premier heir seemed to be walking in – he looked twice before discarding the thought of me – and I retrieved my car from the valet, who would not stop raving about the European style. You think these people would realize that I _know_ how fantastic it is to drive on the right side, seeing as how I _owned_ it! Goodness gracious if I hadn't lost faith in humanity long ago these run-ins with valet men would have definitely put me over the top. But no matter, I put in the gear and drove off down the road, slowing past Gordon and a few of his men, then climbing back up to normal speed as "Changes" led me to believe that, until I apologized to Eleanor, David Bowie would haunt me and make me want to tear my ears out, even though it was not a too terribly awful song… it was one of her favourites.

The rain had picked up in the later hours of the evening as I finished putting together a rather magnificent display of psychopharmacological majesty, contained within a small cartridge hidden inside the wrist holster that adorned my left arm. The interior clock encased in the wooden dashboard read '10:59' as I stole a quick glance to my open agenda that sprawled across the passenger seat. My appointment with the infamous Cardinal Bergemont wasn't until eleven and I knew that this would be the longest minute of a lifetime. Frankly I had a fading interest in meeting with this man, even though I held this date in the highest esteem. I only wanted to get back to Eleanor; the agenda that was taking up her spot only reminded me of her as I checked my tie in the rear view mirror.

The ornately lashed eyes of the Marquis stared back at me through the glass and curled his polished cranberry fingernails around the base. "There's such a sad love, deep in your eyes," he spoke with the voice of that blasted artist as I leapt to turn off all volume. His white out brows pushed together in angst as a garnet nail swept across the face of the Bulgarian clock, notifying me of the few seconds that remained. Punctuality was a must, for the man had been kind enough to stay up past his normal hour to meet with me, where he would no doubt try to convince me that what my grandmother did, by incarcerating me within a dilapidated, rotting, stinking house of God was just her way of showing love. HA! Nine years of listening to bearded men chat lightly about chemical imbalances in the brain was more than enough to convince me that the woman was just a class a psychotic freak. But then again, who am I to say such things. My mouth curled into a vicious smirk as I took the briefcase handle within my palm, carrying my alter ego protected by brushed steel.

I was a bit surprised by the bare interior of this Gothic cathedral. Call me old fashioned but upon entering I was expecting more of an element of grandeur, one that would cause me to realize just 'how small I was in comparison to God.' But there was nothing like it. How odd it was that people would pay so much money to go inside of such a disappointment. The walls were a cream plaster that extended upwards and coated the vaulted ceilings, perched atop less than admirable Ionic pillars. Instead of the rows of oak benches I remembered from the religious prison I once knew there were just rows of bare, relatively normal chairs, all separate from one another. In the center of the large room was a plain runner that extended from the fountain of Holy Water all the way to the base of a rather overbearing organ. My eyes surveyed the scene and came up unimpressed, which was until they climbed up the towers of brass and were shocked back into my head by a most unexpected sight. Compared to the rest of the lack-luster establishment I didn't understand why the need for such a piece of elegance.

Attached to the front of the organ, like a mermaid to the bow of a ship, was the Crucifixion in all of its expertly carved glory. I had never seen a rendering of the Holy Son with eyes as lifelike as this one's before, and to be honest they were slightly terrifying. As for the rest of the sculpture the arms extended out and were fixed to the brass behind by what looked to be pewter nails - his feet the same story.

I became lost in my own thoughts as I stared into these fake eyes, that is until someone scared me by closing a warm hand around my left shoulder and turning me around into a most surprising embrace. Frankly, I was dumbfounded.

The heavily lined face of Cardinal Bergemont stared back at me with happy eyes, as he held me at arms length from his slowly fluctuating torso. He seemed…happy, and to see me of all people. How strange it was that he would be so thrilled to have a meeting this late with someone he didn't even remotely know. My mind twirled, he had no idea what he was getting himself into. "Welcome Dr. Crane," he said as he motioned for me to join him in one of the two chairs seated below the disturbed face of the statue above, "Come, sit and tell me what it is that bothers you. I know in my heart that Christ has a solution to whatever ails you." The skin of my palm suffered a pocked imprint as the grip around my briefcase handle turned to a strangle hold. This man was so foreign to me, and yet he symbolized everything that I loathed on this planet – that in itself made him all too familiar.

His white robes danced at the foot of his chair, as the wood creaked under his weight. His eyes widened as I informed him that I bore no desire to sit, on account of this mater was of the utmost urgency.

"Than you're in luck Doctor, for God makes time to fix everyone's troubles." With every word he said I knew my complexion grew more peaked, and I had to set down the brushed metal case or suffer the metal handle piercing right through to the other side. I couldn't believe that people came and listened to his bullsh*t and actually took it into consideration. My shoulders shook under the pressure building in my chest as the Cardinal stared, worried, upon my arched back. "Please my child," I inhaled annoyed, "Just tell me what it is that bothers you so. I'm sure the Lord will move you to the top of his list." This, this was the simple comment that broke my spine in two. Outside of my own body I watched as my height whipped about and bent over the seated man spitting at him, "God doesn't offer immediate solutions!"

My behaviour was condemnable, but I didn't care. My hands worked separately from my mind, tying the imbecile to the simple chair with a various barbed wire and then running over his now perspiring temple. Joy found its way back into my conscious as his eyes filled with horror and confusion. This was exactly what I needed before going back and admitting that I was at fault, all I needed was to prove to another that they were more incorrect than I. "Cardinal Bergemont," he flinched as I shoved his head backward onto the rest of the chair, "have you ever thought of the welcome you'll receive once you ascend to the gates of Heaven?" He didn't answer; he only stared at me with a pitiful whimpering. The expensive cloth around my shoulders scrunched as I shrugged. "Or perhaps you have come to realize that you've your nose so far up Satan's ass that you may reach Heaven by being regurgitated from the devil's fat mouth, yes?" I tapped my foot against the floorboards, waiting patiently for this man's brilliant response which in due time he delivered.

"You're a monster," was all he spoke in his foreign tongue. Little did he know that I was well aware of his tricks, he could not hide behind his Latin any longer. The insects that inhabited this city may not have understood his pompous sermons, but I… I most certainly did. And I was not going to stand for having another old man tell me how to live my life in accordance with an invisible man in the sky. His eyes pleaded with me as I jumped on top of the organ bench spreading my arms wide, mimicking the man not too far above me now. "Yes Cardinal," I said while spinning around on the cushion, "I am indeed a monster. But you know," his neck strained against the weight of his swimming head, "Not only am I a monster, but a murderer… an intellectual rapist… Look to me like you would your God, for he and I are not so different."

The Cardinal shifted his weight up and down, trying to release himself from the restraints, but only crying out in pain as the barbs dug deeper into the skin of his wrists. The way I had made sure to tie them was something I had observed a policeman do on a lone henchman once. If the subject continued to struggle it would only lead them to a quicker demise, for eventually one lucky barb would find its way inside the vein and drink from the liquid that rushed out, intoxicating like a warmed lager. Where was his God now? Quickly I took note of the ropes and pulleys hanging down from the rafters above the organ, estimating as to their maximum hold. All in good time I told myself, leaping from the chair and walking around the religious man who now had tears draining from his eyes. I inhaled the scent from his punctured wrists and savored the copper overtone. This was my vacation.

"Why…" the man uttered breathlessly, "why would you defile a man of God? Surely you know the consequences of your actions, what waits for you beyond life?"

I didn't mean to do it, but there was such humour in his blabbering that I couldn't control myself any longer. A laugh escaped me, one that I couldn't compare to any other before it, as I snaked my arm around the Cardinal's quaking shoulders, leaning in closer to his ear. "Why should I be worried about a silly thing like that your _grace_?" his wrists had begun to drip crimson onto the poorly kept floors, "What awaits us after death is the same for both of us, do you not know? When your miserable existence comes to an end, _which_ _I'm going to make sure it does tonight_, you return to the Earth. Only to be born again into your cycle of suffering," the holy man coughed viciously as my hand found its way around his trachea, "It is my fondest hope that you return a delightful little frog so that I may cut you open on a shining tray and coat your entrails with formaldehyde so that the stench of your heresy is diluted by vinegar." The cardinal vomited onto his robes.

I would not have been surprised if I shook with glee, this was just what I would have prescribed for myself. Dark circles formed underneath the man's crow's feet as he lifted his head to meet my stretched smile one last time. "What is this madness my son? Is this the Devil lashing out through your humble form? You were molded after our Lord, does that not mean anything to you!" With the last of his strength the man had spit on my cheek and stepped on the top of my right foot, causing me great distress at the fact that dirt was now seated atop the fine Italian leather. It wasn't as though I was going to let him go, but after such a stunt as that there was no thought in my mind for his general well being. I'm sure he would have been a fabulous investment banker, but instead he chose to embark on a road that only lead to bleakness. His decision was unforgivable.

"Tell you what your grace," with my other hand I pointed to the sleeve outstretched before his cheek, "all of your answers lie up my sleeve." I watched maliciously as his forehead wrinkled weakly and he turned towards my sleeve. He boldly questioned as to if this was some sort of trick, to which I replied, "No sir. Magic isn't acknowledged in the eyes of God."

It was shocking how weak the skin of his nostrils were, for as I hooked them onto my two fingers it seemed as though his nose might come clean away from his face. He struggled as best he could while the fear toxin swam into his lungs, completing my favourite part of any event housing the 'Scarecrow' as its headliner. I watched, thrilled just as greatly as the first time, as his pupils dilated to maximum followed by broken blood vessels erupting along the lids. Gosh, it was lovely, I congratulated myself on my self control for it would have been only to easy to just shoot the man. I giggled from behind the scratching burlap as he caught his first glimpse of this city's authority on fear while I secured a hook to the wire gnawing on his paling limbs. His cries were like Beethoven's symphonies and echoed off the plastered walls, causing the room to fill with horror. It was almost as fantastic as the opera, what with the voice coming from his lungs being comparable to any female soprano.

It was like watching a lame dove rise from a coop as his massive form fluttered across the altar floor, suspended from a strained rope, until he crashed into the chest of his lord and saviour. "Terribly ironic isn't it my grace?" I shouted up to him as he beat on the sculpture's face trying in all pathetic efforts to save himself from whatever beast-like image his mind had conjoured before him, "That you should die up there, just as your king had done so many years ago." The high-pitched screams that sprang out from his lungs alerted me to the fact that he was paying me no attention, which aggravated me greatly. How much fun could it be to torture someone when they don't scream at you? No matter, I had prepared for this situation long before and took simple steps over to the small table where I had left my opened briefcase and pulled out a, rather gorgeous, revolver. Wiping off any dust flecks that might have found home in its barrel with my Prada handkerchief, my height floated to the space between the first rows of ugly chairs. I placed the blackened cloth back into the front pocket of my jacket before raising the firearm and pulling back the safety. The cardinal squinted down to me with fright and demanded to know who I was to which I replied, ever so calmly, for all of my anxiety had disappeared, "Just call me Caiaphas your grace."

With a small amount of pressure he was no more, and I felt extremely refreshed when his still warm blood washed upon the front of me, seeping in through every covering and licking my dehydrated skin. I left in the same fashion, for even though I was planning on returning to Ryan immediately following my exit I knew that there would still be a fantastic collection of clothes to choose from. My hair was tousled as it was freed from the burlap and the revolver was surrendered back to the brushed steel.

I savoured the sound of my shoes against the ugly runner as they echoed off the plaster in a much sweeter tone than when I arrived.

Much to my shock however I seemed to have unknowingly been performing for an audience of one.

A small skinny boy stood aside as I passed and stopped before him, running my stained hand through his thin blonde hair.

"Don't worry," I said smiling, "You're free." He winced and sunk down to his knees.

The Prada cloth found its way to the blood on my face as I passed through the large doors swiftly and silently. Indeed, that was just what I needed to bring me back to my old self.


	23. Chapter 19

I do not own any part of the Batman franchise, just simply a fan with some sort of plan c: So Please Enjoy! 3

I remember the return trip to the building in the back seat of the car, wet and shivering, as my immune system fought against the advances of pneumonia. The entire scene proved a most unpleasant experience indeed. What was worse was that I knew my father had caught onto the ill-timed increasing absences from my work and was no doubt patrolling me even more so than he already did, if that were possible. Those apes of security guards were no doubt already scoping the lower level of the laboratory looking for my pathetic waif under an overturned book. The expression on Lucas' face was enough to tell me that upon stepping off the lift the two of us were in for something else entirely. It was moments like this that made longing for a hiatus in business perfectly, if not undeniably, acceptable.

A film of ice covered my skin, as I lay there, in the middle of a crop range devastated by desertification. It would seem that I had been here before but when questioned my mind would simply say it didn't recall any sort of disgusting location. 'Quite the charming individual,' I sighed while pushing myself up on my palms. In every angle despair mounted and circled my sorrowful frozen body, cackling until it vanished into the fog that fell down as a curtain to shield my indiscernible emotions. My eyes darted from left to right, causing a wake inside my skull, as they surveyed the scene for any other form of existence besides a pathetic little sprout growing out from under the randomly strewn snow piles. Its green stem violently angled, shaking in the smallest of breezes. The corner of my mouth twitched with amusement as the infant plant grew a fair isles sweater around its tiny little arms. The poor dear looked so pleased, and I immediately harboured a miniature fit of envy as I glanced downward and realized the only covering that fell from my shoulders was a thin sheet of frost, almost too translucent to even qualify as a clothing option. Although in the event of a passing onlooker, which given the surroundings was highly unlikely, it was not as though there was much of a contrast between my natural pigment and the colorless ice.

There was one thing that struck me as incredibly odd however, as I sat in the middle of chill. I felt no decrease in temperature. It was as though my body heat had mimicked that of the outside air, a preserved living polar cadaver. Although the crystals that embedded themselves into my arms and legs were widely apparent I was numb to all of their sharp protrusions, crawling like spiders across my liquid paper limbs. The only thought that managed to squeeze through the blockade and into my brain was the fanciful notion that this deserted tundra could possibly be Hell for scientists. A place where they would be imprisoned, frozen like so many of their testing subjects and samples, for all eternity. 'It would be impossible though,' my mind spit back at me as it stomped on the notion's fingers while they held fast to the edge of the cranium, 'for if this were Hell for scientists there is no way that you would be here alone.'

Alone, this concept of solitude was just something I failed to consider as anything other than normal, for there was never an experience that had proven my assumption otherwise. Truth through experience.

The weight relieved itself from my straining wrists and a cloud of powder escaped into the sky as my bare skin met with the underlying crystals. The sky above was a gray as plain as any, and grinned happily as it sprinkled more super cooled droplets down onto my decaying form. I found myself the victim of existentialist thought, as I lay there, motionless, under a newly shaken out blanket of white that covered my nude front. After a while it became impossible to even believe the snow was real, or that I was anything more than a universal loser. Black took hold of my fingers, slowly climbing up my arms and collecting at the base of my neck – poised to strike its claw into my shut eyelids as my mind tried its best to collide with the interior of my skull and shake me awake. Unfortunately for the organ every effort was dubbed futile, for my eyes blatantly refused to open.

If I had any thread of which to weave a heart I am most positive that it would have felt sorrow at the sight of my brain holding its hands out to the dying flame within the cast iron stove above my temple. But alas, the spool in the arms of my broken chest proved empty and therefore so did anything that constituted a heart. With my eyes frozen shut I no longer had sight, and with that my tongue had burrowed down the esophagus. Even senses had left me in this barren waste, but the independence, which had begun to set in, felt strangely refreshing. There was no longer any responsibility and if I had to pay with my eyes for this simple luxury than so be it. For the first time in my life there was true tranquility and I only longed to savour it before it disappeared like everything else, before I, myself disappeared within the ground water.

Before long the flame inside that miniature cast iron stove flared up, melting the ice that had sewn together my eyelashes and allowing me to stare blindly into the white. A patterned thud vibrated up my spine as the palms of my hands once again acquainted themselves with the ice below. My jaw fell sharply, releasing my tongue from its contortion, as I saw the only other being that contrasted against the snow surrounding us. "Dr. Crane," the words flew from my mouth trapped in a cloud of evaporation fog, which disappeared before it met with his ears. High above my propped up torso he was suspended, his Hugo Boss suit riddled with age and his forearms pocked with embedded granules. If I didn't know him better I would have suspected him of crawling through some decrepit basement, but given the knowledge I had of his character that idea was of high doubt. His wrists and collar were tied to the wooden stake behind him, ironically making him a field scarecrow, but I did not laugh. His eyes weren't chilling and his skin was slightly more colored which caused him to be completely apparent against the subzero environment. Whereas I still remained dormant in its shadow.

A small breeze pushed between us as his body shifted and collapsed so he could bring himself within distance of pulling his still pale fingers across the ice that enveloped my upper body. I should have been ashamed at being so obviously without clothes in front of his befuddled gaze but there was no catch with which to collect any thoughts that fell from my mind. So there I remained, staring at his subtly different form as his breath fogged my sight and made him even more unrecognizable. Even without eyes I could still make out his expression by the way he traced his hand up my neck and eventually to the temple, which housed scars of his own accord. "You're cold," he whispered with a sense of frightful urgency, "Come now Eleanor… what is it you've done with all of your clothes?"

My expression did not change; even though my mind demanded it do something other than show flatness. Nothing, not my brow nor lips, would move even a pinch. All my body could do was stare at this man who I didn't wholly recognize as he tried to shake me from what he most likely assumed was a daze of hypothermia, given his comment about the temperature. He yelled my name to me again; as if that would have really done anything other than make him look like a fool. It was so foreign, this entire situation that I now just wanted to go back to my old existence. To do what I was doing before I ended up in this place where, obviously, Hell had just frozen over. I only desired to lie in his bed and watch Labyrinth, wishing I could be there, as the real Dr. Crane's undeniable warm and natural scent enveloped me much like this snow. The man before me was not he at all, but a poorly constructed replica of the only thing I had ever seen merit in caring for. A most cruel trick this was that my mind had played on me, all the while pretending to be completely ignorant of the matter. "I'm not cold," I replied breathless as I tried so hard to watch the shapes appearing in the fog from my mouth, "I'm simply not here at the moment." His eyes pleaded with me to explain but I would do no such thing for this stranger, "If you happen to see Dr. Crane would you tell him that I enjoyed his company for as long as he saw fit to give it to me?" His expression slipped from his face leaving his entire profile to be that of stuffed burlap sack.

The touch warming my frozen temple swept away as my hands were kicked out from under me and I simply fell backwards, forever. Into a chasm my body tumbled, dead and unfeeling, crashing into pronounced ledges that would have broken bones had I been able to identify the cracking noises. The only sound my ears chose to address were the varied expulsions of my name as the faux Dr. Crane tried to regain my attention. The only problem was that I no longer really cared for breath on any normal scale that would make me a human. Me… being human. This was the thought permanently imprinted on my brain as I watched a lance shaped protrusion from the cavern floor pierce through my chest, clutching my heart within its outstretched hands in victory.

It was then that I found strength to laugh, for my lifeless heart was, truly, the worst prize of them all.

"Eleanor!" Once again my name was yelled into my eardrum in an effort to grab hold of my attention, only this time it bore a difference to that of the pseudo Dr. Crane before it. The tone was more whined and when I opened my eyes it became apparent as to why. Straw-like Blonde hair flew down and then back up as an abnormally large grin bowed its head in courtesy of a lady. I felt myself scream out in sudden fright as my body tumbled off the edge and onto the polished cherry floors. "Just like Crane," he laughed while extending a white-gloved hand down to the floor to help me back up.

Slipping back under the sea of white duvets my hands massaged my eyes to try and get them to calm down from the sudden fright. "Jervis?" I questioned as I glanced over his shoulder to see David Bowie, "What a most unexpected pleasure this is."

He laughed out rightly, because he knew it was true, taking a seat on the edge of the generous bed and looking over to the movie that played rather loudly to the front of us. Normally I would have expected him to call beforehand but then again stealing a glance from the Austrian clock on the lapis lazuli encrusted bedside table I realized that I had no idea what day it even was. For all I knew he could have called five hours or five days ago at this point. I watched as he absentmindedly circled his finger around a rise in the covering and stared upon dancers twirling about with their partners behind masks of deceased rams and gazelle. I didn't want to be rude, but his sudden appearance at my side provoked an irresistible urge to know.

"Jervis if you don't mind me asking," his eyes rolled over to look upon me in my cave of fabric, "what is it that brings you here?" The white glove that trapped his left hand found its way up to my forehead, where it lay as his smile curled up mischievously. My skin savored the texture of the fabric as it swept back and forth, warming while soothing. Unfortunately it only reminded me of the fact that I had always imagined Dr. Crane's touch to be just as light, and sadness had finally resurfaced after such a long drought of nothing. "A favour for a friend my dear," he told me in his now calm tone, "I've come on his behalf, to deliver a message that he cannot bring himself to speak to you in person," his gaze shifted from my own up to the ceiling as if he was searching for the right words, "For he fears your distaste and, what he presumes to be, and inevitable addition to his own sadness." If one thing was obvious in the room with the two of us it was that whomever he was talking about really did not want to see me. No matter, I didn't really harbour a desire to see anyone else anyway. Just the fact that Jervis was next to me was an anomaly in itself.

The past few days all I had been doing was hiding in Dr. Crane's residence trying to remember him as best I could while watching Labyrinth over and over again. I adored David Bowie, so any time I could transfix my gaze upon him doing what ever he felt there was a little part of my being that still seemed to work properly, feeling any remote piece of joy that was transferred from he to I through my line of sight. Although even with the tiniest fragment of happiness it was nothing compared to the mountain of guilt and sorrow that had collected within my mental melodrama. The productions had been nothing but one tragedy after the next, playing without intermission so as to drive its landlord to the brink, and eventually off it.

My silence was obviously no secret as the motion across my forehead stopped and the weight if Jervis' entire body on top of me crushed down through every fiber. "I do believe this is the worst that I have ever seen you Miss Ryan," he said with a cheerful sarcasm as his grip tightened around the top of my duvet cave, "What do you say to the idea of going out this evening, hmm?" Even though he was suffocating me there was an endearing quality about his eagerness that could have persuaded me under a different circumstance. But in this case I was in mourning and there was no room for happiness.

He was quick to catch onto this little absence as well for he suggested going out to one of my favourite little clubs in the whole of the city, one that I had mentioned briefly at the time of our last meeting. How was it that he could recall such a detail at the drop of a hat, the question probed my brain mercilessly as I watched his smile slowly appear over the edge and down into the mouth of my fabric cave. "Come now my dear, you can't hide in there forever," he had obviously been slow to remember that I had been hiding my entire life, "besides I can tell you of someone who would be sorely devastated if you chose to do so." It was hard to act uninterested at such a bold display of a secret.

"What do you mean Jervis?" I questioned as he pulled the roof of my duvet cave clean from my balled body and hopped up and down on the bed beside me, very much like one of the monkeys from that children's rhyme, the name of it eludes me. I continued to watch him jump with the largest of smiles as my legs curled up under my chin. The room was rather cold and the force of rain against the wall of glass to my right seemed to battle with David Bowie's voice as the neon lights within the city erupted into the night sky from only a handful of blocks away. The reds and the greens, they were so lovely after they stood at the window, diluted by the gray of the rain, but I only longed to see an icy blue. Of which it seemed there would never be again.

It was as if being on a small boat, or at least what I imagined a boat must feel like on choppy waters, for the weight of Jervis' continued bouncing was enough to push me to the brink and I simply floated towards the window to get a better gaze of what the normal people were doing for entertainment this night. The rhymic up and down had ceased and I felt growing warmth appear behind me as the reflection of my companion manifested itself on the glass, waved like my own by sheets of running water. His gloved hands traced up along my spine until spreading to opposite shoulders at the nape of my neck. I would not lie and say that it was not strange to have this Physicist place his hands upon me, but in that moment I could have cared less. I was pleading with the city to let escape a stream of blue but it would refuse every request that sprang silently from my lips.

In his image in the window I watched as he removed his overly large hat and placed it on the back of the chair that sat at attention beside the bed that he had so brutally beaten with his gleaming shoes. His ridiculous grin shrank to one of a more refined nature as it slunk closer to my cheek, resting on top of the closest shoulder and bringing his shifting eyes level with my own lifeless ones. "What are you thinking my dear girl?" he questioned as the white glove opposite ran along my collarbone, back and forth, eventually sliding down my arm and finding a comfortable spot to lace about the waist of the gray dress hanging from my shoulders. In truth so many things had been circling in my mind, but now – a fair collection of days and cigarettes later – it seemed all but one had remained transfixed in its seat, for it adored the melodramas. My head turned to face his, but I did not look upon him. Rather my sight found its way back to the film that had kept me company in many of the darkest hours, and well into those coloured in a haze of gray. When I was younger, one of the few things I remember, my only desire in life was to disappear into the screen and sit upon the castle sill beside their glorious king, keeping him company as he sent out crystal orbs and rearranged the stars. That was my only dream. But like many other things in life, it hadn't a chance to come to be. It tethered itself to my ankles like lead weights and impaired my ability to escape from the depths of sorrow, as if to remind me that I was always to be the victim of such dreadful misfortunes. My absentmindedness from the moment between the two of us as we stood there by the perspiring window proved no secret to Jervis whose white gloved hand took hold of my chin and forced my eyes to his, in as polite a manner as could really be achieved in that situation. The smile across his face had receded to a faint smirk, of which I never thought possible, as his gaze bore into my mind with a "you don't think you can keep that from me" look to it. Indeed, I suppose that I could not, for he proved much too persuasive.

"Now see here my dear," he said to the surrounding area while turning me about and wrapping his arms about my waist, "Our city is a piece of work, you cannot deny it, but think of how much worse it would be if it were to loose a great scientific mind like yours, hmm?" I could feel his voice absorb into the pores at the base of my neck, as he seemed focused only on my pale skin. "Besides there are very specific people who, its very clear to me now, would not survive without your vivacious breathing form. Someone very specifically comes to my mind who I know for certain would be without reason if not for you."

I had forgotten how eloquent Jervis was capable of being, had the occasion arisen, but it was very clear were he was directing his words and I could only hope that he didn't go into vivid detail regarding the speech of Pausanius. My spine went into subtle convulsions as I watched, in our reflections; Jervis softly bite the top of my ear before he continued on with exactly what I did not desire to hear. "If it hasn't become obvious yet dear girl allow me to say it abruptly. I'm speaking of your darling Dr. Crane when I tell you of an individual who would be without a primary cause were you to quickly vanish from the surface of the planet," as much as I enjoy lectures I could do nothing to prevent his words from entering one ear and dripping out the other, "For you see, I've spoken with him and its undeniably obvious, listen to me Eleanor for I harbour no humour when I say a _blind_ man could _see_ it, he loves you."

My hands, which had been straining against the grasp of his right, dropped out of focus with their nerves. He had to be tricking me in some way, or poisoning my brain with lead from the manufacture of felt hats – for I was beginning to feel mad as a hatter indeed. "A vulgar love," escaped past my locked lips as I felt my shocked expression deflate into one of submission. Jervis' expression had changed as well, from one of a gentlemanly seduction to one of thinned eyes and a downward line of a mouth. His gloved hand released my unattached hands to fall limp at my side, as a pressure mounted in the middle of my back, shoving me into the glass before us. The characteristic smile had returned to his face as he placed his chin on my shoulder once more, gazing out the window and down upon the unsuspecting ants so far below.

"A vulgar love? Is that the credit you would bestow upon another who gives their heart away?" It was a very admirable gesture from him, to try and defend an associate.

"I will be certain to call any love of carnality vulgar, for that is what it was named so long ago," the pressure at my back grew and I knew he wasn't pleased.

"I see, dear girl," he spoke into my ear with a coarse whisper, "If you wish to have that as your pathetic defense for shutting yourself away in this palace of perniciousness than so be it. But I can assure you, as a gentleman, that what he is feeling is nothing but Uranian love in the purest sense."

My concave ribs cracked in their final hold under the weight of his open hand. I knew that he had come to play in that moment. The man knew his Symposium and was therefore a worthy opponent in the argument that was beginning to unfold between the two of us. A small, unexpected, laugh came from my one still properly functioning lung as I turned my back against the glass and faced a confused Jervis, looking up the double breast of his coat and into his uncomfortable smile. "So what you say," I paused as he regained his close proximity, "is that he has found something to be interested by besides money or this ever pronounced convenience of my being a biochemist?" His wispy blonde hair shook as he nodded and brought his hand to my face. "Than if that be true, all of this suffering and sorrow is just characteristic of the futile search for our other halves, of which one never really finds?" I felt unease as his left hand circled around the small of my back and brought the two of us ever closer together. He pushed what hair could fall in front of my face back and smirked with a gleam of mischief. "Changing to Aristophanes are we?" With that simple question my tongue swelled and prevented me from any uncharacteristically sharp return of wit, and he knew it as he pulled me in just short of embrace and told me plainly, "A never ending risk my dear," a devilish joy filled his eyes, "But isn't that just the tragedy of it all?"

He had won.

"I've brought you a present," Jervis sang as I followed him out into the sitting area of Dr. Crane's residence, the ever-familiar dark gray walls that surrounded the cherry floors. He motioned for me to take a seat on the chaise as he presented me with a rather ingenious elongated dressing box and, much to my surprise, a full sized scarecrow from some poor farmer's field out in god knows where. I did not exactly know how to respond to this overbearing form suspended from a stake much like the faux Doctor from my dream, although devoid of Boss. Its head was a stuffed crème burlap sack that sat atop a rather tattered button shirt, but beneath an equally tattered black hat with a center that extended and curled violently every which way before ending in a pin point. The poor thing looked so neglected and it only reminded me of the first time I saw one of the rats down in the lab named Twin Rupert III Duke of Windsor. Except this scarecrow didn't come equipped with a foreign tentacle.

I opened my mouth to speak but Jervis placed an extended index finger over my lips to silence what would be my voice. He pushed his arms into the shirt along those of the field dweller and did a fantastic job bringing life to the inanimate object. He caused the form to take a knee before me and take my hand in its, scratching and made of straw, as he tried comically to imitate Dr. Crane's voice, while still being as flamboyant as I knew him to be. "Eleanor," in all honesty it was not a bad impression, "D-do forgive me. I know not what came over me to convince me to throw you from the car and into the seemingly gregarious grip of the ghetto, but I promise, as a gentleman, that it will never happen again. W-will you have me back?" I could feel my face become crimson alongside the growing warmth I was beginning to feel escalate inside. My hand reached out and removed the weathered black hat from the top of Jervis' messed head as he slipped his arms from the shirt on the stake.

"I-is that really what h-he said?" I asked, shakily returning the hat to the top of the burlap head now perched against the wall, still stained from when the orchid collided with the gray. My companion's smile told me everything as he sat on the chaise and brought the elongated box to his lap, once again motioning for me to sit beside him, which I couldn't rightly refuse. My curiosity as to what could possibly be within drove me to jump at the chance. He was sly as he lifted the lid upwards and back towards his chest, slowly revealing to me what lay within. "Seeing as how I refuse to let you say no to going out this evening I bought this for you," I looked upon it with an even paler tone, "Frankly, I have no idea how our dear Doctor can tolerate having you walk around looking like such a nimbus all the time."

Its soft fabric collected into my grasp as I lifted the dress out of the box and held it up before our two sights. It was a simple cadet blue girls' dress with puffed cap sleeves, ringing with white trim – same as the collar, which collected mid neck with a faint black ribbon tie. The colour of the dress was not what struck me as undesirable, for even though cadet blue is undeniably hideous it is the closest to a shade which I would normally find myself in. But it was the pristine white apron that was to be worn over it. At the shoulders it had fabric that would frill out over the tops of the cap sleeves like wings of a dormant dove. The chest was a bit more forgiving to my classic style, with a set of three black buttons that enclosed the ribbed upper portion above a collection held together by a sweet white bow, which laced through the apron like a thread. And of course, like every apron, it collected at the waist with an admirable white sash, and continued down into the skirt of the dress – ending with a hem of ruffle that just screamed juvenile. I had always suspected Jervis to be of an interesting taste, but this confirmed my every suspicion that he was just obsessed with the twisted beauty of Lewis Carroll. His smile had turned into an eager grin as he pulled me upright by my outstretched hands and urged me to put it on quickly so we could go before the police got suspicious of exquisitely dressed people coming out of the squalor.

I'm almost positive my eyes gave me away as I thanked him and went to change, forlornly, out of my safe gray high-collared fiasco. I was disappointed that I would be having to spend this night with this companion who, it seemed, really did not know what fashion Dr. Crane lingered on. The scarecrow in the room with Jervis would be the only being of that name that would be seeing me in this outfit for a young girl, a _very_ young girl. And even then I wasn't so positive that he wouldn't tell Dr. Crane all about it if the two ever met. A sigh left me as I watched my thin fingers tie the black ribbon and slide down my front, smoothing the nonexistent wrinkles from the skirt.

My gate was ridiculous as I stepped out into the sitting area in the dress he had bought for me complete with, little did I know, frilled white socks that came up just under the knee and small black shoes with an elaborately designed piece across the instep. Looking at my reflection in the windows that stood behind the gray chaise all I needed was a blonde wig and I could be a vision straight through the looking glass. Anxiety collected at my shoulder blades at the thought that he might have actually brought one. Even though I didn't know what day it was I was almost positive that Halloween was not for quite a while.

Jervis stood to his full height, which given my passive estimation was probably about the same if not a bit shorter than Dr. Crane, and walked over towards the carved lions – never taking his eyes from me. He held a coat aloft for me to step into and I anxiously accepted, seeing as how it was significantly more mature in its style. I felt a weight as his arm encircled my own and opened the great door, lions groaning at their sudden disruption, and swiftly exited taking my stumbling height down the polished tiles and into the compartment of the gilded lift.

I was clueless as to if we were really going out to one of my favourite clubs, for I knew the host would never, in a million years, let me by in this _costume_. The best I could do was get into the car with him and just play coy, even though I noticed a fair collection of Dr. Crane's toxin contained within the back.

Indeed, if I had fancied myself intrigued beforehand...


	24. Chapter 20

I do not own any part of the Batman franchise, just simply a fan with some sort of plan c: So Please Enjoy! 3

Now, in twenty-four years I had been granted an countless number of drives with uncouth individuals but _this_ one, oh yes this one, took every prize there could possibly be for the most unexpected, most unnerving car ride of them all. Not even the trip returning from Polaris at the beginning of my career, fifteen hours to the Northeast of Gotham, contained in the back seat of Boss Falcone's town car holding a crate of nitrobenzene could top _this_. I wondered, looking back over the tops of each individually menacing barrel, if Dr. Crane had asked Jervis to transport the entire order so as that he would not have to look upon my horrid profile ever again. In all honesty I was both a bit surprised and a bit expectant. It made perfect sense that Dr. Crane wouldn't have high priority in seeing me again, but the fact that all of this compound could manage to squeeze into the rear of Jervis' M-Class without combusting in on itself was a feat of majesty. Truly worth taking a note of for future situations.

Outside the passenger window the city was a blur, nothing but fantastic stripes of diluted reds and yellows from the traffic signals, never green and never any blue. My fingers curled about the rawboned seam of the overcoat as I glanced sideways to Jervis who circled his white-gloved hand around the grip of the steering wheel and simply continued into the darker reaches that encircled the outer ring of the ghettoes. His stringy blonde wisps of hair darted out at all angles surrounding his ears and his mouth was shut behind a devious smirk. Anyone with eyes could tell that he was creating something within that demented cranium, but what? One could practically trace the teeth of the gears as they rotated in time with each other, powering the great machine that spit out admirations of young ladies in overstock. Or perhaps it was just a sense of philogyny that provoked his mind to imagine nude youth, after all the human body at any stage in life was an art, which would make him nothing short of an aesthete. And there was simply no proper way to argue with something like that, not logically anyway. Science and Art are two subjects that could never be combated, for it would seem that they held fast to the same strings in the brain, in every brain.

"Eleanor," I was most pleased that it was he who broke the silence first, "do you have any idea as to what today happens to be?" I felt my face drip from the skull and pool down in the lap of the clean white apron, now soiled with melted flesh. Of course I had no idea what made tonight any different than any other night, especially since I really had no grip on the date. In all concern it could have been the Autumnal Equinox. I replied with a sheltered no that I was sure Jervis assumed would be my answer, for even I failed to hear it as he pulled the car over down an alley way. "What a shame," he cooed while disengaging the car, "Our dear friend the Doctor would be so displeased."

I could not resist any longer. "What are you talking about?" The words sprang with a vicious behaviour from my lips as I watched his double-breasted coat sway out of the door and around to my side. This whole 'secret' business was becoming most annoying; even though I had made what life I could inside of it. I longed desperately to know why Dr. Crane, of all people, would be so upset that I had no idea what day it was. What did it matter if it was Monday or Thursday, there were still orders that I was expected to make that I was conspicuously absent from doing, and had been long enough for my father to become suspicious – which never meant any good for anyone, client or otherwise. Jervis' smirk transformed into the grin I had become accustomed to as he held his hand aloft for me, in a very gentlemanly fashion, for me to take hold of. "Are you not in the least bit curious as to why there are eleven barrels inside the vehicle behind you my dear?" The containers had completely slipped my mind, and as I took a last lingering look I realized there were twelve.

"That was to be my second question," I spoke with haste in my tone as the two of us stepped lively in through a door that boasted, perhaps, the most off putting neon sign of any that had been screwed above an entrance in the whole of Gotham City. A reddened female outline kicked her legs, flirting with a guest from her fluorescent martini glass complete with a startlingly lime olive. At once I knew exactly where we were, even without the rather loud, overbearing electronica tearing the hide form my eardrums and stabbing at my raw temporal lobes. The whole club was coated in blue light that would have boasted an enormous collection of Nitrogen had we been higher in the spheres. But the whole sense of calm disappeared once Jervis lassoed my height down into a shortened door way and into the thriving center of the nightclub. A lustful red was the common theme reflected in everything from the floor to the liquid encased in glasses of the same tint. My small right hand collected about in the crook of my companion's outwardly bent elbow to try and stay close as he seemed to walk, nonchalantly, through masses of gyrating people elevated on one narcotic or another. It must have been, for my eyes felt like they were being subjected to another brutal treatment with that horrible yellow acid that my father's security seemed so fond of.

The music pulsated so loudly that I had to break custom and yell so that Jervis may have a hope to hear what I was asking, but with a simple turn of a corner the volume had ceased a great deal and audibility no longer proved a concern. "What are we doing here Jervis?" I asked, anxiety already mounting my insteps and securing grappling hooks about my pelvis. Curiosity could be contained no more and I was so relieved when his white glove pushed open a door and I saw one of my favourite people in the entire world. "It's a birthday party my love," I shuddered as his arms snaked about my sashed waist. My confusion was of no secret to anyone in the room as his whisper pierced, "Not for you of course, but for our darling Dr. Crane," slowly a memory of a single moment came rushing out of the folder inside some back room file cabinet, "I knew you would enjoy being a part of this, and who else could I find of the female persuasion that would have been so accepting, hmm? After all we have quite an explosive time planned for this evening. One that will surely go off with a bang." In that moment as he pushed me down onto the umber leather next to a man I had not seen for many months everything began to gather together into one very simple idea.

"I had a feeling that you weren't delivering his order," Jervis laughed quietly while glancing around to the other men, "If he wanted it he wouldn't have left it gathering dust on the forty-seventh floor." Indeed I had wondered why he would have picked that specific floor. It had been sealed off for years now. I couldn't even recall what had been there besides a fire from the first time the under dwellers tried to stage a coup. Then again, a deserted floor was probably the best location for a side project as large as his proved to be.

A wonderfully dressed arm found its way around the reverse of my shoulders as an intoxicating natural scent clouded about us. His hair was grayed but styled ever so cleanly a top his naturally aged expression. I only longed for his Hugo Boss suit to be tailored for another, but even with the message relayed by my companion I didn't expect to have the pleasure again any time soon. "Good Evening Boss Maroni," custom guiding my manner as a polite smile adorned my unnerved mouth, "Thank you for allowing me to join you." His profile twisted with amusement as his right hand grasped the back of my head and ruffled through my hair, messing it with a platonic passion. "Come now Eleanor, surely you've known me long enough to for go formalities?" His tone was comforting and did a fair amount to relieve the tension, which had mounted under the weight of his arm.

Indeed I had known him for many years but in my line of service to an unelected tyrant there was no forgiving nature for uses of first names. And addressing him by his surname just seemed awkward. Luckily enough it seemed that godforsaken awkward silence only found entertainment value in the times when it was Dr. Crane and I, stumbling for words down a moving walkway, and did not rear its hideous head in this post modern ultra lounge. The wall behind the elongated couch had a rather unique basket weave pattern, which complimented the organic motif presented in the three other brocade papered surfaces. The calm was stifling within this cubbyhole but the elegance of the festivities laid out before my sight were not to be denied. Rounded rectangle tables sat at attention before everyone's feet and held miscellaneous amounts of gin and a rather exorbitant amount of olives upward into our reaches. Naturally, I found myself denying the hospitality with nightmare flashes of the Iceberg Palace and super cell storms sending Brennevin to Earth in its downdrafts.

From the left to the right my mind engaged seven men, the eighth coming in shortly there after with yet another round from the eager barkeep. Just glancing at the swirling olives within the shallow glass made my head swim and fall backward onto the neatly collected sleeve behind it. "If this is a birthday celebration," I paused as all twenty eyes found my face in the core lighting, "then where might the guest of honour be? It seems reasonable that if it were a celebration for an individual that the particular individual might as well be in attendance." Anxiety massaged my shoulder blades as every smirk in the room separated into fits of hilarity, the two of us all alone in question. Jervis' eyebrows raised in a sly recognition as he pointed his glass upwards and to me, serving as a light-hearted toast to my ignorance on this, obviously, widely known event.

"This is why we adore you," Maroni's voice enveloped the air as his hand perched itself on the crown of my head, "So very intelligent but yet not one step of commonality contained in there. All you've got are equations and customs." In all honesty there were really no options for speech following something like so, not because it was rude but because it was undeniably true. The only option was to surrender to his arms force and fall over into his lap as the room once again started up with a new raging fire of laughs. That was just his character, sharp and unapologetic. Everyone there with Jervis and I had either known that before coming along or were now getting used to the idea that he was never at fault. I did, however, sport a high regard for Maroni on the basis that every job I did for him ended pleasantly and with a generously large tip – even if it was to re-route a simple meth lab. "I have an idea," he began again while stroking my head ever so slightly, "Would it not be a fantastic idea to take this little gathering of intimates out on the town? I think our intelligent, and absent, friend would be in agreement." My eyes darted around to the profiles of each man who owned enough brain space to understand that there would be no argument without tongue removal. Jervis, on the other hand, simply stared at the basket weave behind Maroni's head with a certain emptiness. One that proved foreign to even myself. His white hand placed the empty glass down onto the nearest rectangular table and curled back to the side of his ribcage. "I must say," his freehand found its way to the brim of his oversized hat, "I was under the impression that an idea was already laid out. Otherwise Miss and I could have done without the minimal stress of transporting all of the man's toxin." I stifled a laugh, the comment was a backhanded assault on Maroni's ability to respond on his feet – and so long as I've known him that had not been a strong point.

"What would I possibly do with his random containers of bad dreams?" I could hear his stomach cringe inside his abdomen as he held my head in a firm fashion. "Every person outside this room is already racked with enough morphine to put a bull elephant in a state of comfort, what would I need Crane's hallucinogen for? Would you expect me to bury it under the foundations and let it grow into a flesh eating tree of some sort?"

The man did have a valid point. If every man and woman beyond the tightly secured doors were injected with an extremely large amount of morphine many of them wouldn't live to see two a.m. That was just natural law. My brain shrugged inside its holding as Maroni's fairly normal fingers brought me back up to an ordinary prone position. It was like viewing a chess match, for tactics are every bit as important on a board as they are in a common debate, and at this point I would say Jervis had the man's queen in a rather unbecoming spot. For once I was thrilled that I had a break.

A soft knock reflected inward from the doors, breaking each man's concentration on the matter. A severely gaunt man with a bursting glass eye stepped inward, but only a fragment of measure past the threshold, to relay a message for the man in charge. "You requested to know when the next train was departing from the station just up the way sir," he spoke hastily while looking around to each of us, "I am here to inform you that the last train scheduled will depart in twenty-three minutes at the hour of twenty-four."

He was handsomely paid for his haste, the suited man closest to him saw to that, as I glanced over to see a brightness seep back into the Boss' aged face. Slowly, but surely, my mind began to understand what was really going on. Maroni had promised Jervis something that he did not fully disclose and had requested myself along for a, now obviously, chemical related insurance factor. The hatter's white hands twisted within each other and I knew that had he the opportunity the nails adorning his finger tips would be dangerously close to extinction, I knew I harboured a strong desire to nip at my own. But instead I simply rolled a loose string in between my thumb and index finger – a severely underestimated neurotic habit as pointed out to me during one of the few times Dr. Crane actually had words for me of which I was meant to hear.

Maroni gave eager looks to each of the eight men surrounding us as they all relinquished handguns from the inside of their jackets, flowing out into the raging collection of people swerving into each other under the influence of techno rhythms. Firearms were so commonplace they no longer held any fright for the three of us left within the room. Jervis simply stared, uninterested, out the door watching what I could only hear as Maroni hooked his left hand under my upper arm and pulled the two of us up to height.

"So," he said swiftly with a devilish look to my companion, "_this_ is the plan."


	25. Chapter 20 Part 2

I do not own any part of the Batman franchise, just simply a fan with some sort of plan c: So Please Enjoy! 3

It had been so long since I had actually walked down into the belly of the underground to stand at attention and weigh down my ankles by waiting for an anonymous train to rumble past. The subway tiles cracked and crumbled in every direction as the horrific smell of fluids invaded my senses. Jervis, it seemed, was already guilty of being partially prepared for his white glove disappeared into the same shade of an embroidered handkerchief that relieved him from the unholy torment of filth. I immediately turned green, whether from the scent or envy was indiscernible, and leaned in close to the chest of his sweeping coat. His hand was comforting as it laced around my shoulders, pulling me inwards to try and stop the cold that pulsated through my body.

Maroni's associates had rounded up pretty much every celebrating being from the nightclub and brought them along with us in a caravan comparable to Moses. The Boss himself fixed a spot opposite of Jervis and I on the block, a few feet above the tracks, and kept glancing downward to the face of his Movado. It was obvious he was beginning to grow impatient for the echo of his incessant tapping continued for what seemed like days as the crowd around us came down off their expensive highs. Any individual who opened their mouth to complain was quickly singled out and forced to help carry every container of Dr. Crane's fear toxin down into the station like a slave. Humourously however, it seemed enough men had already come to their senses to create a smooth operation, and soon every container was beside the armed men in only a matter of minutes.

I watched, intrigued, as Maroni's eyes darted from one tunnel opening to the next, presumably guessing as to which mouth would regurgitate public transportation. "What are we even doing here?" A woman yelled out form the center of the crowd of partiers with a voice comparable to that of a drunken piece of squealing chalk. Pressure increased around my shoulders as Maroni passed Jervis and I to speak privately with the third suited man that I had counted from the private room. His voice was low and rushed but it seemed his counter part understood every word for he gave the Boss a sharp nod and unleashed a few rounds into the already some-what caved in ceiling. My mind was curious to know what was being played out here, obviously devoid of a strategy, and slowly turned – abrasing my cheek on one of the coat's finely crafted peaked buttons. Maroni approached Jervis and I with a slightly more motivated manner, sweeping his right hand through his aged hair and bringing it back down into its respective pocket. "Here's our trip," he said slyly raising his uncovered hand in gesture to the train that bore a striking resemblance to one that had been tossed over the bridge that ran over the furthest, and saddest, outcropping of the tenements. Many of the darkened windows were either cracked or broken out completely, above the endless stream of rudimentary illustrations. When the doors opened two of the suited men escorted the three of us, obviously as the heads of the event, comfortably into the first car, which was quite a shock. Every surface gleamed with infancy and invited one in with a slogan of the utmost cleanliness. I watched as Jervis removed his hat and sat it beside him, lightly, while removing his coat to reveal an exquisite green shirt diluted with the most fabulous of grays. Then again there really was no reason to expect anything else besides the most interesting neutrals that hinted to something more Technicolor. In this city if someone felt a need to be bold with his or her colors there was always a varnish of darkness to put them in their place, or at least for the people I had come to know. In the business of wickedness there was never anything that popped besides perhaps something curiously grotesque.

Out of the window I could see the crowd of sickly faces becoming skeptical as they glanced over the sides of the cars following the one my companions and I had been secured in. The men in front refused to go on board until a bullet from the rear of the mass sent a cloud of orange into the contained air space. The evaporated toxin swirled about, converging with the unobstructed air into one swiftly moving shelf cloud that ran over the heads of the now frantic throng who broke all customs, running like a crazed mob onto the train to try and escape the orange mass now licking at their heels.

Maroni smiled upon me when our eyes met. The sudden contact brought a disembodied anxiety to perch a top my now quaking shoulders, and rain down nothing but question. Jervis stiffened with surprise when my head collided into his lap as the train launched itself down into the throat of a corresponding tunnel. The man driving the train looked increasingly familiar as my eyes traced his entire form, but upon reaching his feet I realized that every single container of fear toxin was latched inside of the compartment, wobbling and bouncing against one another with every twist and turn of the rails. That was when my mind finally connected everything together. This being the last train of the night that meant it's last port before being shut down at the yard was the prominent Astylar Building where most of Gotham's import and export business was settled. Most of the time the last train of the evening would run through the station under the Wayne Building, but I suppose with the Joker running around the mayor would be cautious about letting a potential bomb run through the building that housed, basically, the city's entire economic security. The man was in no way the sharpest knife but he was owed some praise, after all he had managed to get himself elected.

The driver's voice came over the speakers and alerted everyone that if they were parched from their draining rush on board they would have an opportunity to quench it via a trolley that would be coming down through the pathways housing an exorbitant amount of liquids - free of charge. This intrigued not only myself but Jervis too, for he snaked his arm under my weight and pushed my head upwards, to be at level with his shoulder. "Don't wrinkle your dress Eleanor," he said out of the corner of his mouth while accepting a rather questionable coffee from a man garbed in a most flamboyant caftan. It poked outwards at four corners with a Picasso type print of a 'jack' face card on his chest. I'm sure it would have been an even more foreign concept had I not noticed the circuit card sticking out from the top of his ear. "Jervis," I asked, as politely as possible while haste stabbed through into my spleen. But no contest, he held his hand to my mouth while sliding his elegantly stitched thumb back and forth across the rim of the steaming glass, glancing towards my no doubt surprised expression with an uncharacteristically thin smirk. "So," he spoke with confidence to Maroni while keeping his hand to my lips, "why play such a welcoming host to these parasites?" I could feel my brow collect together in consideration. The word brought nothing but horrid little visions of children with piercing needles for fingernails and nocturnal eyes – far worse for wear than my own. My brain had no doubt fallen from its velour seat in its melodrama theatre for my skull felt like it had dropped a boulder, and glancing to gage the Boss' reaction did nothing to help clear the feeling.

His demeanor was the same exact calm that rested on his features when my father decided to blow like Krakatoa, tranquility removing him far away from his actual location. He brought his left foot over the right knee in relaxation while requesting a martini from the personified playing card. "Listen," he said in his negotiating tone, "Obviously things aren't going the way you expected but think of it this way." His fingers found each other to form a tiny flesh planet that orbited around his fabulous tie. "What is the best way to calm down a raging crowd?" My mouth dropped quickly to answer but the man quickly changed it to one of a more rhetorical nature as he continued, "You offer them something that they like. And what is it that the citizens of the ghettoes love most?" Again with the rhetorical that I wanted so desperately to answer, his fingers separated and constricted the tongue of his tie while his eyes did not sway from my companion's. "Destruction," he said confidently while waving his hand about to catch the stem of the martini, "Dissolved in every alcoholic drink that's being served in these here subsequent cars is a_ v__ery_ generous amount of one of _your_ specialties." He raised his glass in toast to my vacant expression that only announced to everyone present my failing thought process. File cabinets that contained every memory were overturned, its papers sifted through in hopes of locating a hint.

The last thing that I had ever made for the man was an overhaul of Ecstasy, but that was redundant and trivial compared to all of the other tasks that were listed in that ominously oversized leather bound record book of my father's. My pale hand rose to relinquish the grip of Jervis' as he focused on his still interestingly off-colour coffee. "What you mean to say sir," I paused, as Maroni relaxed, "is that you are giving drugs to an overly hysteric crowd? For what purpose exactly?" The man's smile was too composed to be taken light-heartedly and when he shifted his height to better answer my question the mood of the entire cabin changed from calm to one of impending frivolity. "My dear girl," his laugh was silenced by a sip from his martini, "the easiest crowd to control is one made happy by hallucinogens, come now you've known this for years. Besides, drugs are cheaper than bullets and parties are much more enjoyable when a select few get restless…" His index finger twirled the tiny plastic sword within the liquid, which hypnotized me from paying attention to what he said next. The toxic scent of alcohol invaded my senses when Jervis leaned over and told me that I needed to sit upright or I would cause wrinkles to form in the dress he had given me. I scoffed silently as my chest flipped over in distaste. It was a gleaming tray of hypodermic needles, each with equal amounts of murky yellowing liquid. The suited man who brought the silver for Maroni to inspect looked incredibly entertaining in his waist apron that sported artistically arranged burn holes. My eyes fell backwards into the chasm of my empty skull when the Boss I had known for years hopped upward like an overly eager child and sent the man through the door and down into the viciously waving arms of the unruly passengers now continuing on their party rampage. Each car could be seen through the open door although the sight wasn't thrilling. Overhead the lights flickered, much like a strobe, and incredibly loud electronica swept from speaker to speaker as if the synthesizer had a venereal disease. The henchman didn't make it far into the intoxicated zoo before being rushed and beaten by men coveting the contents of the tray. The people were animals on a scale I had never seen before – clawing and biting at each other for anything that contained an illicit substance. It was just like the riots that broke out in the fourth quarter of the ghetto, in between St. Elmo Street and the old meat processing plant. If the Ryan Building had been seven blocks east it would have gone up in flames, shooting off like a Roman candle into the already polluted city sky.

The chaos was like a horrible movie, I couldn't bring myself to look away. The behaviour contained within the steel was barbaric and yet they all had such broad smiles. Just like the expressions painted on the heads of the marionettes sold in the puppet shop Downtown, an equally as uncomforting. There was a cool breeze as Jervis got up and slowly shut the door on the piteously screaming henchman, and when he turned back around to face Maroni and I his mouth was plastered into the widest smile I could possibly recall. "And with that little show I'm certain the devil takes the form of a twenty-four year old woman," he quietly applauded while taking swift steps to lean over the back of the man so much older than he, "might I ask what you mean by 'restless' because from what we've all just seen I'd say this train would have to turn on its head before things could get any more exciting." I watched Maroni anxiously while my hands intertwined with each other; the whole situation was one that was obviously growing out of control.

Rain pounded on the roof of the briskly moving train, which became sonic after Maroni ordered the driver to increase the speed. The outcome of jettisoning off the rails became more and more believable when he enlightened us to the fact that he had bought some Heroin from a street urchin before retreating to the private room of the nightclub, some that would knock a German Panzer off it's rocker – well… if a panzer was an animate creature. Thinking back I remembered seeing an urchin with his head paved along the bricks of the opposite wall. It was obvious that the Boss had received the drugs free of charge, for even if he had paid the man he ended up reimbursed, perhaps with interest.

"Eleanor," he spoke to get my attention while he and Jervis looked over to my pathetic prone body gazing out of the window at the masses of neon that streaked by, "wash up and get ready."

"Ready for what sir?" I asked with a sincerely confused edge. Maroni motioned for a suited man to hand me articles that were all too familiar as Jervis' brow rose in contest. Within the package were yet another apron, loupes fixed upon eyeglasses, and a single rusted scalpel. It was unnerving seeing a tool so poorly kept but yet still in use. Not because it happened to most likely harbour tetanus but because with all of the rust crowding the blade any incision made with it would be horrible jagged and therefore insanely difficult to sew.

"Just because this isn't a house doesn't make it uninhabitable for a doctor," immediately it became obvious as to why I was _really_ invited, "Now suit up my dear, and whatever it is that comes to be just imagine its your beloved psychotic psychologist and everything should go swimmingly."

The key word of course, as I examined the less than stellar scalpel, was should. There were many things that I should have been doing but instead it was this, which chances are I should not have been doing. Besides I would have stabbed this disgusting instrument through my own sternum before ever pricking any part of Dr. Crane. Lock Jaw was not something I longed to see him suffering from, if I ever would be graced with sight of him again.

For hours nothing happened. I rinsed my hands as best as I could with the quarter amount of Hydrogen Peroxide that managed to remain within the small bottle inside the case of items I had been given to work with and tried to scrape off as much of the rust from the scalpel that would allow itself to go. Unfortunately after two passes with Jervis' pocketknife it became apparent that the metal had rusted all the way through and if any more contact were made I would be slicing people open with plastic olive skewers. A most unpleasant task for all parties involved I assure you.

Jervis had finally given up on his off colour coffee, which was a relief on its own, and welcomed me back to the space beside him with a simple pat and devious smirk. His left hand found its way slowly down from my elbow and collected around the handle of the knife that had been secured within my grasp moments prior. I peered out the corner of my eye to try and watch Jervis' expression morph while he ran his fingertips up and along the now severely dull edge of his once lovely blade. Sorrow filled my mind and chest as the wisps of blonde tamed themselves, coated in a most lustrous espresso around fast paling ears and jaw line. Surely I couldn't be hallucinating, although there was a high possibility that the transportation situation of the barrels could bear witness to hairline cracks belching toxic fumes into the whole of the car, fast eating the oxygen and storming down all of our esophaguses and corroding our lungs with a thick puce tar. I could only feel the fierce stabs from underneath my own crawling skin as I watched Jervis' facial features slowly disappear behind a fastly advancing mask of that which I so desperately longed for.

Piteous was the attempt at happiness that I hoped it might spare me from having to amputate any partying limbs, but there was no such luck. Maroni simply assured me that all of these parasites partying, dancing, f*cking in the subsequent cars would be hard pressed to recognize the difference between a surgeon and a colossal squid after the hour that had gone by, that I should be thrilled to have practice on emergency conditions because it was that sort of skill set that would make me a wonderful wife. He smirked from over the brim of his martini as his eyelids slowly met and the liquid ran down over his tongue. "Is there something that I should know?" I asked, trying desperately to some how gain control over the horrible nervous twitch that had snaked its way into my vocal box. Maroni simply set his glass into the palm of an awaiting henchman and patted his moist lips with the corner of a handsomely embroidered kerchief. The lapel of his jacket had acquired some sort of white powder as he slipped his fingers back into the interior pocket, bringing out a small metallic cigarette case filled with most likely anything but an actual stick of tobacco. "Don't be so nervous Eleanor," his thumb pressed heavily upon the small clasp separating the lid from the base and revealing an equally shining razor blade a top mountains of a similar white powder, "you cut up people for a living, why should it matter if you're inside the confines of that lab of yours or in a hotel bathtub? Either way you're the only one I know who would be accepting of organ removal aboard a moving gurney. Which is why you're here. I love you dear girl but sometimes you worry too much." I knew Jervis bore the same shocked eyes as the two of us sat across from one of my favourite Bosses complete with a rolled bill shoved into his nasal cavity. I wish I could say I hadn't seen this before, but as one of the many sking of the underworld he couldn't help but acquire one bad habit or another. I just never assumed he would feel comfortable enough on a cruddy piece of public transit to potentially poison himself with an unintentional microbial assailant.

Gotham City was large but I knew that after an hour and half of high speed travel that the driver had passed by the targeted destination at least twice and was simply buying time for all of the passengers to plummet themselves into a state of euphoria in which death just sounded like a greater party to be in love with and tend to. Sickness docked within my abdomen as sorrow and a slight elation battled each other over the prized port below my stomach. The thought that I might be spared from having to do anything surgical while aboard this high speed hell hole was slowly boiling over, pushing my imagination to relinquish its hold over my perception of Jervis and return the man to his actual appearance. He must have known that I wasn't feeling wonderful for he coiled his arm about my waist and pulled me over to relax upon his lap, stroking my head much like a parent would do to an ailed child. The rhythm of breathing which pushed and receded against my scarred temple was one of fantastic ease for, even though it was just momentarily, the thought of hemorrhage escaped the screen of my mental theatre and simply flashed through snapshots of watching Dr. Crane's shoulders stiffen with irritation at the refusal of his experiment to work properly from across the lab table. I only wish I had been brave enough, or forward enough like Evee was, to journey over and fix the simple problem he could not see in his frustration.

Jervis' stroke patterns were organic and most irregular as he spun his index and middle fingers counter clockwise against my straining scalp. The feeling was unlike anything I had experienced, so hypnotic that I could not even hope to fight off the drowsiness that suddenly appeared as if poured into my skull through contact with this master of minds. I longed for incoherence. To sleep would be to forget everything that had happened and everything that was happening. If only I could surrender enough to allow even a moment's peace I could black out and awake to the exact moment I was meant to experience. Because there was absolutely no question that this horrific train ride was definitely not it.

Although luck had abandoned me for right as I was on the brink of achieving my goal nerves sent pulses of electricity to the brain shooting my light headed body upright much too quickly. The barred door to the subsequent cars had slammed open, allowing a flood of blaring music and broken glass to fly through into our borderline demilitarized cabin, along with something I had been dreading the entire night. My sight directed my head as it swiveled atop my aching shoulders, glancing from Jervis' ghostly face that would harbor a competition against my own, over to the horrified face of Maroni who could not stop sniffing due to his violent cocaine nose job.

The remaining unwounded henchmen ran to secure the door before another barrage of delirious partiers could stumble into our midst and cause even more trouble. Unexpectedly my throat collapsed against the strain of the disgust that erupted and seared my tonsils. It was a simple man laying at my feet, no more than twenty, with pupils the size of pinheads. My knee found a home against the unpleasantly sticky floor as I managed to find a cause to his problem that I never expected in a million years. The soft flesh of his inner elbow was mutilated, as if Jack the Ripper had gotten off on men's arms instead of whores, with handfuls of amateur needle wounds complete with a white substance still being rejected by his body's blood stream. Jervis and Maroni both leaned forward to hover over the dying man's limp form and had to hold their mouths after I pulled my finger across the white, bringing it to my own lips to taste. "Milk?" I said with an honest confusion as I looked up to Maroni and then back to the poor leach, "injecting milk into the blood stream of an OD hasn't been documented since the 60's… what clever being came up with this champion idea?" Still confused I realized that this man was in no way going to survive depending on how long ago he had been killed by his fellow party goers, and every suspicion of the cabin was confirmed the moment he started to seize under my pathetic weight. Frantically I used the last bit of available strength to shove the stranger onto his side, for the two men above me weren't of much use once Jervis fainted. A yellowish white was what I could only hope to be discharged from the man's mouth but when a black sludge-like congealment seeped out from behind his lips and onto the now ruined apron of my dress I knew he was much too far along to be saved. Each henchman around the scene shouted their own personal form of cure but their words only dissipated into steam about my ears as I carefully lifted his shirt and found four bulging mounds.

"What's wrong with him?" I recognized the question as Maroni's for his nervous tone rang a distant bell within my eardrums. The lumps under the man's skin would not give to the touch which only meant his organs were expanding. Obviously it had taken most of the train ride for his fellow addicts to transport him to the head of the party for his body had been clinically deceased for at least forty minutes. Unfortunately for him there was nothing even I could do to save his disgusting wasted form.

"Hand me your glass sir," I petitioned to Maroni who buried his green face in his kerchief once the glass was broken and shoved into the man's bubbling stomach. "I'm sorry," I knew that this wasn't a scene for daytime television, "But if I don't relieve the pressure it wouldn't surprise me if he exploded." I tried to concentrate on the force of thin blood that spit out from the incision and, unfortunately, into my face so that I did not have to think about the two henchmen that had thrown up only a few feet to the left. With a quick pass over my tightly shut eyes the white skin of my left hand was tainted with black, and the juvenile dress Jervis had been too kind to give me was ruined. Sitting back, my viciously swaying height had to be supported by even weaker haunches as a newly awakened Jervis placed a shaking hand atop the crown of my head. "I think we have a bigger problem than that exploding biohazard my dear," he said in a tone that matched his convulsions. His grip forcefully entwined itself within what hair it could and jerked my head around so quickly that I half expected it to pop clean off. It was then I knew that the wish I had made a few weeks ago, the one where I wished to be dead because that was the only way I could possibly make anything up to Dr. Crane, was one that I really did not want to come true but had done just that without any sympathy for me. Through the freshly unbarred door everyone of us could plainly see partiers being tossed like rag dolls every which way as a muscled cloaked figure ran full speed to our location, finally disarming the remaining henchmen and seizing me about the neck, up and finally off of the now fully dead young addict.

This masked man obviously had no direct idea as to who I was, otherwise he would have know that I had grown immune to threatening choke holds. His black mask formed against his face well, for each line could be made out without confusion but still left the full realization of his identity to the imagination. Either side peaked in viciously pointed ear-like appendages and the same points carried throughout his entire ensemble in a theme of menacing characteristics. The lack of oxygen to my brain really was not doing anyone any good, because I was well aware, among other things, that if he continued with me like this for another three minutes that my brain would be devoid of oxygen entirely and I would be dead just like I had so childishly wished for. Delirium had finally arrived to this little demonic party and the man's masked face began to distort and melt in the most bizarre of ways, as he seemed to speak to me through his eyes, which opened like mouths with thousands of ugly fat pointed teeth. "Where is the Scarecrow?" he demanded to know as he shifted his grasp to my left upper arm allowing oxygen to continue into my rotting skull. In a ridiculous fashion I told him at least four times that I had no idea what he was talking about, and also that his outfit was terribly inconsiderate for a birthday party to which he simply held me in a tighter vice grip. "If he isn't here than what is all of _that_?" He was considerate enough to aide me in turning around so I could see the barrels stacked up high and bouncing around, crashing into one another as the train sped out of control, the knobs and buttons covered in deep crimson from the suicidal driver. In a fit of silliness I simply shrugged my shoulders and told the man that they were a birthday present, which this whole entire scene was just a simple birthday party that had gotten a wee bit out of control. The last thing that I can coherently recall is telling who I now recognized as Gotham's caped crusader, the one Dr. Crane loathed, that the police should have been called at least an hour ago but it seemed that no one had a phone so it was not that big of a deal. I suppose that wasn't exactly what the Batman had been hoping to hear for he then asked what this whole charade was about because it would take more than a pathetic frail woman to come up with this whole master mind operation and stabbed a finger at an extremely irritated Jervis and a slightly more passive Maroni, still high off his earlier endeavor.

Silence filled the entire compartment but was quickly foiled as an extremely loud siren blared from the driver controls signalizing that before his death the man had set coordinates for the Astylar Building, as planned, and there we were not 500 feet from the mouth of the station, only moments before the great showing of frivolity and fireworks to the musical piece of equally great hilarity. The Weather Girls began to spread their eighties dance energy through the still rapidly partying train cars as the Batman lassoed my two still conscious companions with some rather silly little braided cord attached to a carved bat grappling and proceeded to shove my face, quite rudely, into his as my back once again suffered contact with the seedy train wall. "What is all of this for?" the bat demanded once again, louder as if I couldn't hear him the first time, "surely you must have bought all of this somewhere? WHERE?"

Over his heavily armoured black shoulder I could see a groggy henchman cutting Maroni and Jervis free as the siren blared in a more erratic pattern, signaling to the three of us that if we still held fast to our right minds we would deboard immediately. But the batman did not let go at the change in sound, he only held me in the same position tighter continuously asking the same question as if I was at fault with a lack of intelligence. I would have thought he might have changed up his mind a bit seeing as how a newly cut open men was being crushed under his heavy boots but that didn't seem to phase him in the least bit. After what seemed like another eternity of agony aboard this moldy train the Batman managed to ask one final time before Jervis fit his high ears with a mind control card and he was forced to unhand my no doubt already bruising neck and arm.

Maroni took hold of my hand and dragged my unwilling height along as I got as close as I could to the masked man's face as he stay fixed to his new position on the floor in the dead man's black sludge.

"Happy Birthday Dr. Crane," and with that Gotham's hero vigilante scowled, no doubt committing my face to memory, and disappeared into a vast cloud of flame and toxin that soared upward into the night sky. I am not positive as to if it was still my delirious mindset or reality but the orange mist the fed into the clouds, causing them to rain with Silver Iodide, bore an odd resemblance to the Batman's horrible mask, and I knew that he was in no way dead.

Although safe in the back seat of one of Maroni's town cars I knew that things were only going to get worse, with Gotham's hero or without, because I still had to return back home. Back into the mouth of the inferno, with my father at the reigns of the beast.


	26. Chapter 21

I do not own any part of the Batman franchise, just simply a fan with some sort of plan c: So Please Enjoy! 3

Sal Maroni was definitely not a man to be gossiped about for reasons concerning a poor taste in automobiles. In fact he had commissioned his entire Mercedes fleet to come and secretly retrieve us from the, now partially volcanic, imports building after our fantastic little birthday stunt. Looking out from the rear window it was easy to distinguish our effects on the already violently storming night sky. A fierce orange spread through the black nimbus like wildfire, engulfing every rain droplet and tainting it with acidic bile, which ate at the steel ceiling of the German auto.

The black leather that engulfed Jervis and I only provided a silent backdrop to the horribly stained fabric that was this sad little girl's dress. The browned apron felt damp between my cracking fingertips as I rolled the seams within my grasp, clenching and releasing with anxious pace. I was well aware that my companion's eyes had already surveyed the interior and had fixated themselves to the now ruined garment with an air of distaste combined with severe interest that my mind couldn't fully comprehend. In the headless scurry that was the walk to the waiting cars I had told Boss Maroni that he did not have to journey with Jervis and I partially because it would have forced him to travel in the complete opposite direction from his eventual destination, and partially because I did not really expect that a conflict, in any way perverse, would really be high up on the agenda. But as my fingertips pulled across the door handle beside me, I couldn't help but try desperately not to succumb to the curiosity that would persuade me to look to the left. I only wished that Boss Maroni had insisted on accompanying the two of us into the dripping mouth of the city. I hoped he would have warmed the bench seat across from my companion and I so that anxiety would not have a shadow of a chance to grow obese off of the feeling which was, without a doubt, radiating from the entire expanse of epidermis hidden beneath sad saturated fabric.

Even though the distance from the area surrounding Astylar to that of Ryan was not long it was common knowledge that at this hour of the night the ghetto streets would be newly paved with the freshly leaded bodies of the unfortunate; making the mudded cobblestone pregnant with mangled limbs. The image alone was enough to pain my heart in favour for the poor Mercedes suspension.

With every glance my fogging eyes stole from the vacant seat across before us the vision became more and more pained as dried spittle cracked, ripping at the immediate skin, slicing eyelashes straight from the follicle and planting sties like seeds along the way. There was no doubt that a question of being contagious passed through my rotting brain as I tried in the best of my ability to snake my newly shoeless foot through lazily arched handles of an Armani weekend bag that had been hiding underneath the wingtips bandaged to the feet of my companion, matte with the same yellowing spittle as was besieging my retinas.

"Allow me my dear," the breathless voice of my companion swayed in my ear as his fingertips swiftly found themselves enclosed about my quaking ankle, my lungs collapsing there after in the wake of such ill-founded surprise.

It was not as though his contact was anything to be taken seriously in the moment but of course I should have known better than to trust a man who bares a grin like the horizon when telling an obese woman she can, without a doubt, oil her porked flanks into an Antonio Berardi. Everyone knew he enjoyed a joke or two but statements like that were just doomed to be born ridiculous no matter which angle they were shot out from.

Jervis' crimson-spotted coat fell to the floor as he rolled it from his shoulders, white gloves flying into it's pockets, and took my reluctant leg into his newly exposed hands with a glaze of excitement blazing quickly from ear to ear. His skin was smooth, although I cannot say that I didn't expect it with them being always in seclusion, but the simplicity of contact with another was enough to send the neurons in my mind into a confused hell. It was as if every muscle had endured a winter nude for they were anything but mobile as he managed to remove both stockings with a criminal quickness and imprison my icicle fingertips within his uncomfortably warm palms.

"Jervis," was all that my voice could manage as every internal organ began its deterioration and his hands parted my own, placing them on either side of his collar, purposefully shackling me while his lips played upon my pulsating wrist. "Just calm down my dear," he said as though he had rehearsed this whole moment before, "if you shake any more furiously I'll have to think epilepsy _contagious_."

Dumbfounded, I watched in horror while Jervis moved swiftly and gathered my rigid legs about his waist shifting the two of us into quite the compromising position, wisps of his blonde hair hanging down and framing his face that glowed with a malicious intent. My chest felt as though it would give way at any moment under the forcible pressure of his body, causing my stomach to finally belch out its black acid of vulnerability, which I had tried so hard to ignore.

The shame burning in my face brought about a redness that no one could have been fond of as he carefully graced my ear with a gentlemanly touch, one that only made me all the more worried. "Wh-what are you doing Jervis? This doesn't make any sense," a weak smile formed – no doubt as a side effect of a collapsing trachea, "And you… a man of science surely doesn't do much of anything without considering at least _some_ point of reason?" A new tear began to clear the fog from my eyes granting me the sick, morbid pleasure of catching a glimpse of anxiety, fat and happy with his ill announced dinner theatre, while Jervis' hand secured a more forward hold. "Don't be ridiculous, of course I listen to reason. It is just a simple matter of how well I choose to actually hear it."

A sharp inhale pierced my quickly shrinking throat, propping open the tissue like cavern beams supporting Earth, as nerves giggled and shied away from the rasp of his tongue against the sensitive skin which joined neck with quaking clavicle. I tried to hire every bit of strength to get him from me but as my hands met with his chest in force his simply took both within their free grasp, imprisoning them yet again above my head. "Jervis please," with every shift of his weight my voice lost clarity, "you told me that Dr. Crane had feelings for me, that you were… looking out for my safety for a friend. Do forgive me but I seem to lack a link in placing your actions in the category of a favour to him."

For a moment I thought some matter of sense had returned to him for he rose a brow and released to a slighter pressure about my wrists, but that all faded with another quick mischievous grin. "Eleanor," I wondered how his voice could stay so calm, "I didn't do this for your dear Doctor, I did it for myself," he nibbled my nervous ear as he continued on, "I remembered him from long ago, and when he came into that café, with his ever present pompous sneer, asking me to help him out of his self inflicted hole I will say in all honesty that I had no desire to help him at all. But then… then something sparked my interest." My eyes could hold no longer, streaming pathetic tears down my burning face, to pool about my head as his tone got sharper and more laboured. "He mentioned you. Eleanor Ryan, the proverbial jack pot for someone in his situation, what with him in constant need of a more prominent, not to mention worldwide, supplier. I will tell you this dear girl… how much effort it took for me to withhold my hilarity at the idea of him gaining you as an enabler, at him having you any which way all for himself," everything was spinning while he shifted his weight so that he could tower over me once again and forcibly relieve me of my futile bottoms, "Enlighten me… was he charming? Did he say all the right things? Is that how he bewitched you into giving him what he wanted… _everything_ he wanted? They say he's quite the gentleman… when it's beneficial." His smile changed from mischievous and annoyed to one of a calm manner that did not help in restraining the black slime that was now creeping through my veins. "Please Jervis," I could vaguely hear myself plead while his free hand slid smoothly up my leg, burning a hole in my pale skin that I was never going to be able to rinse away, "you're better than this. You know it and I know it…" The telephone line from my mind to my mouth was brutally severed, abruptly ending my train of thought, by a shooting pain from betwixt my thighs. The grimace involuntarily twisting my expression served as the complete opposite to his wide eyes, which wrung out my cortex like a washcloth.

"He's never had sex with you?" his voice staggered with surprise as he studied the faint lines of blood following gravity down his fingertip, "no wonder he was so concerned about you." I felt lightheaded, either from the pain that refused to go away or from the confusion surrounding everything coming out of his mouth. One thing was for certain, I felt like nothing in the world could prevent me from vomiting. "Wh-what are you even talking about? You have your answer… just tell the driver to pull over, I can find my own way back from here."

I longed to just walk outside in the smog, even with all of its pollution Gotham's air was still by far superior to the stuffiness inside the car. One thing I could not understand was how this one detail could befuddle him to such an extent as would create a hold on his mind long enough for me to free one of my hands without his even knowing. "He was absolutely frantic when he was seated across from me," My ears strained to drown out his voice as he cleaned his finger off on the already ruined apron of the juvenile dress, "so distressed because he knew what could happen," obviously he noticed my panicked confusion. "Oh come now. If you put a white sheet out to dry in this city its going to get dirty there's no second thought about it. … How sweet it is that he would feel so guilty for throwing you out but convince himself not to go after you. What a fine gentleman that makes him, hmm?"

At once my mind sprang back to vivacity, whether in one last show or not, bringing my free hand across his ridiculous smile with an ease as though it had done so many times prior. One thing was for certain that was just one thing I would never get used to. Even though he asserted himself in a less than polite manner I still didn't wish to degrade to his horrid level. His height fell backward into a proper prone position, off of me, while he pressed and pulled his fingers from his cheek checking for imaginary blood. "So," he said with a faint smile, "kitty has claws."

If I had thought the pain in my abdomen was excruciating when I was lying down, the demon resurrected ten fold when I leaned forward to knock on the shield separating the driver from our cabin, signaling for him to pull over if he knew what was good for him, and let me out so that I could find my own way back to Ryan. It mattered not that his muffled voice yelled at me that it wasn't safe to run around in this area at night, and in this torrential storm no less, but I could have cared less. For the only thing I wanted was to get out with what little strength still resonated within my limbs so that I might have even the slightest chance of finishing the seventeen orders that had piled up over the past fortnight while I wallowed in self-pity and the deviously romantic gaze belonging to David Bowie.

When the car slowed to a crawl there was no hesitation to open the door and practically leap out into the darkness. It did not matter that the disembodied limbs hiding under the mud snapped at my shoeless ankles or that the city sky laughed as it doused my height in the most toxic of water. As luck should have it a glimpse from a familiar dilapidated brownstone assured me that I was only a few blocks from Ryan, the only luck of the entire evening aside from not blowing up on the train – but that just depended on who one sought to converse with. The driver, that poor dear that he was, stepped out of the car and held an umbrella aloft but it was obvious that I was already a victim of the elements. He nodded in acknowledgement when I simply requested the umbrella and for him to return to the safety of the car, taking Jervis to the nearest whorehouse, as a joke of course because the nearest one was full of men in drag, for I could easily reach my destination from here. It was nice however that as I continued down the jagged cement blocks, which floated as ice upon the thick tar, that he followed me to the best of the Mercedes ability.

The patter of the heavy rain on my personal synthetic awning could not drown out Jervis' reasoning. He used every excuse that I assumed a man knew to try and get me to return to the interior but every single one fell upon deaf, if not completely dead ears.

"You're disgusting," I spat back, stopping to try and gage the distance between two cement pedestals, "A vile, contemptible man I wish would just go to Hell." I knew that I couldn't possibly sound very threatening but the sound of his eerie laugh reverberating off of the shattered windows only confirmed my inability to be assertive.

It was a draw as I stood in the rain, averting my eyes from the Mercedes now pulling away, as Jervis leaned out the window, his head resting on his nested arms as the rain slowly saturated his hair, causing it to stick to his grinning face. "Now, now Eleanor there's no reason to be upset," in that moment I wished the driver would lose control of the vehicle so that the street urchins would have the prime opportunity to sack the car, "one day I will join you Hell, but you and your dear Doctor will have already been crowned king and queen. … _Thanks for the date_." He winked and blew me a diseased kiss, suggestively licking his finger as the tinted window shielded him from the underworld, enclosing him in his posh leather where he was no doubt laying along the seat and imagining what he could have only done.

I knew that I wasn't hurt beyond the dictionary definition of virginity, but that still did nothing for the feeling of un-cleansable filth that was climbing over the guard wall surrounding my heart.

And for the first time in my life I collapsed on the streets of the ghetto in tears, no different from any of the destitute citizens that watched from above in their molding shacks.

Flickering light immersed the ground level stairwell as my soaked back glued itself to the patent steel sheltering my ruined form from the unrelenting elemental attack. Never did I expect a time when being held up in this building's crumbling foundation would actually bring me relief. But that was exactly what swept over every muscle as my knees gave way and surrendered to the flooded floor. I knew that if I could just manage to close my eyes and breathe for a few moments that my head would stop its joyous circus ride but for the life of me nothing was posted on the inside of my eyelids except for Jervis' wicked face glaring over me and playing OB-GYN instead of sticking to his actual profession… which I should have assumed would be less than savoury.

I wished for an instant that humans had evolved a transparent eyelid, at least then I would have been able to sleep without sleeping, without any harrowing thoughts of creepy individuals – Jervis or otherwise. Instead my eyes simply lolled within their sockets until being captivated by a small water strider walking with ease across the oil slick cascading down the cement stairs into the only slightly less coagulated Gotham street run-off. The little thing had no idea that not a few moments later it would be introduced to the underside of an impressively gleaming black loafer.

"Miss Ryan thank the Lord!" I loathed that expression, mainly because I had no idea what it meant. "I was wondering where you had gone off too! Although I really think you should have stayed with your engagement longer," he slumped down and took hold of my dripping arm, "is it safe to assume that you already know what I'm hinting at?" His grip tightened which shocked me into coherence, that way I would be an easier companion for the trip upwards, less I get the same disease as divers who surface too quickly. It was no secret, it hadn't been for days now. My father knew exactly what I had been doing, not in any great detail but he was well aware that the demonic lab was producing no profit. That alone would have been enough for a customary Ryan severance package, but the lack of incoming revenue on top of the oh so inconvenient investigation by that loathsome inspector would have amounted to at least seven terminations, not only from employment but every single corresponding breath.

The ride in the lift from the second floor was anything but pleasant as the floor once again claimed dominance over my will to look elsewhere, combining with the annoying touch of Lucas' sympathetic pats. If anything the pressure he applied was just that of another from tonight and it only made matters worse when he decided to add commentary to our abysmal silent film. "Listen Miss," his tone was disgustingly bewail and I really harboured no patience for it, "whatever happens I have loved nothing more than to be at your aid these past few years, and should you survive I shall be honoured if you would have me a part of your service still." If any energy still clouded in the muscles, diseased with rigor, I would have growled and lashed out at myself in the reflection upon the gilded lift doors. His tone proved only that he was as insincere as he was daft.

Out of the corner of my, once again, fogging eye I could see him prod at the Windsor knot joining his head to throat, an undeniable sign that he was nervously awaiting the outcome of his employment. He had grown accustomed to living within the singeing stomach lining of Ryan, with the all night high alerts and the endless screams. After all as long as he stayed within these walls he had full amnesty, neither the police nor the harsh sting of reality could probe him. For years I was a toy for his paws to bat around incessantly but however small there was a change in him when he was demoted to my order. No doubt he feared I would have repaid him generously for his years of aggression, but I failed to see the importance in experimenting radioactive isotopes on him due to his obvious lack of a heart to test. Still there was a part of me which longed to believe that underneath every layer of hatred there was a piece, even as large as a gnat's eye, that felt something of a paternal affection towards my pathetic self. I wanted it so badly that my desire had managed to erase all feelings of rage against him.

Instead of wrath only pity remained, for in the end he was condemned to be only as happy as I was.

Never before had my father's office doors looked so hideously oversized. It was true for they always had retained an image of being rather large and over decorated for the given area available. But in this moment it was as though they had been injected with a hormone of some sort for they grew menacingly with every step closer. The heavy scent of tobacco fled to freedom from between the solid panels as they weren't completely shut.

I did not want to touch the doorknob but it was only too obvious that if I did or if I didn't, if I ran to hide under the sea of white in Dr. Crane's former residence to cry like the motherless child I was, every breathe I took would be one closer to the ending of bittersweet relief.

Through the hanging smoke I could see the outline of his broad stooped shoulders as he hung over the expanse of his ivory desk. Mounds of leather bound volumes which held the numbers from past years of business covered the polished grain moat about the base of the dying elephants which tried their best to jump from their chiseled prison. I had never really looked my father over before, mainly because of the blunt force grinding my neck into a bent arch. His face was heavily lined with irreversible pain and suffering that others would amount to age and his upper lip never faced the cold for it was sweatered by a twentieth century moustache. The ash tray beside him was the source of the smoke, as it tied together the updrafts of several cigarettes.

My mind was quick to order the door closed as so Lucas would not provide support for my father's wrath, which was going to be terrible no matter what I said or pleaded. Saliva evaporated for there was no sight more unnerving, not even the barely human creatures in the underdwelling of the laboratory, than the way Andrew Ryan's notoriously sunken yellow eyes peered at one from under the thick crests his skull created above the sockets. Veins crippled his irises long ago, after an intended accident by my uncle years before I was even a fathom, which caused him to be incredibly sensitive to light and his skin to become sallow after years of being denned up in his tower of prestige and prominence. It was no secret the other bosses and business partners shared stories about him after their deals closed and they were free from any repercussions, but no one had the courage to ever say it within his domain. I had always assumed that they attributed the dim light and boarded windows to that of a turn of the century slaughterhouse interior, which in hind sight wasn't exactly far off from the truth.

His thick sausage fingers waved a window in the smoke screen so that he could get a better view of that which he despised most of all.

"You," after twenty-four years under his oppression I wouldn't have been surprised if he actually had forgotten my name entirely, "you have been behaving in a most unbecoming fashion, for a servant-scientist AND as an off-off-offspring." The left fingers found their way into the cage of his right while he backed away from the desk and stood to full height, trying to scare what little fear still remained within my amygdala, which was starting to live on borrowed time. His dusted shoes poked out, their slick tongues wagging Satanist jargon on their way to meet my own shoeless feet. It was in that moment time stood still and I realized everything below my waist was just as bare as a new born, my face just as flaming red. He had the worst difficulty in acknowledging that I was his offspring, which explained the stutter on the very word, and the vivid hatred forming across his brow. "I see you have decided to adopt the fashions of those you're rumored to have been hanging around, hmm?" I stood on display as he circled me like a fierce emaciated hound. It only would have been more comfortable if I was suspended from one of the snaggletooth meat hooks above the stairs to the laboratory lower levels. I wanted to know who exactly he imagined me to be associating with but in this horrid outfit my first guess would have been a gang of toothless streetwalkers. No doubt my father and I shared the same thought, give or take the detail that I was without any sort of underwear. He didn't need to know about the mass amount of pain that still resonated within my lower abdomen, he would only get a twisted pleasure out of it.

"Now… girl… allow me to make this perfectly clear for the _last_ time," with that he heavy palm grasped the entire rear of my skull, introducing my contortioned face to long overdue orders, "YOU"RE COSTING ME MONEY YOU LITTLE WRETCH!" his voice was thunderous within my ear canals and vicious on my drum, scraping its long nails down the soft tissue.

I was well aware that I had let orders pile up but never did I know that it had amounted to so great a number. They were like tiny refugees trying desperately to escape the tyranny and flee for the safety of test tubes and beakers. Apology after apology swarmed in my skull, buzzing to the point of a fit similar to the man on the train as my eyes flopped and followed my father's dusted shoes as they walked to the desk and turned around, slowly but strongly easing into a rhythm all too familiar. Words were worthless as my eyelids met in adaptation and my father's scratched voice calmly passed over the fierce current of rage radiating from his deep wrinkled forehead.

"You can understand why I'm upset."

The rest is merely blurred flashes of broken glass and ash.

The elevator doors were reluctant to let my swaying height free from their grasp and into the cold tiled corridor. I admit disorientation was high as my head twisted left and right trying to decipher bears from lions. With a giant step forward I decided to let gravity decide my direction and continued onward into the rapidly stretching hall.

Tile melted into ceiling, and ceiling to space as my occipital lobe bounced up and down against the less than spectacular suspension of my newly crimson- enameled soles. Chances are my skin held no colour, not even a vein shown blue for all available blood was being deported to deep cuts at my lower right side and temple, trying desperately to clot quickly and prevent death by letting out, and therefore giving a new meaning to "stained glass." The way everything had turned out this broken skeleton was a gift greater than any one's god for even in its state of heavy disrepair it was still functioning, which meant that I was still, in fact_, living_.

A heavy sigh escaped into audibility but not from my own lungs.

The lions stared at me through stern sympathetic eyes that looked along my height, glancing left and right to time with the sways. The doorknob didn't even have to be taunted. It was as though the prideful beasts had accepted me as a member during my extended stay and opened the door on their own. Of which I was eternally grateful because there were way too many knobs to choose from. Heck, I ran straight into the door frame because it too had so many doubles that I wouldn't been surprised if all of them were equally as impenetrable.

My feet were saviours, that was for sure, the feat of not tripping over each other was one to be rewarded as a hand groped about far out in front and the other provided a cast of sorts for my slowly scabbing forehead. As if misjudged bureaus and side tables weren't enough the entire residence had a different air about it, which one couldn't entirely blame on the shot depth perception. The gray walls were untouched except for that oh so grand spot which idolized one little fit of rage, which seemed to be mysteriously missing. Each step across the polished cherry floorboards felt like a bed of nails piercing my soles with their sub zero points… or at least they did until a fair distance into the sitting area.

Earlier in the evening the entire scape of things had been blanketed by a sheer fragile dust because without any majour clients there was no reason to waste the time cleaning, making everything just so and gleaming for no ones eyes but my own. Besides what did I care if there was a mountain of dust and cobwebs in the stupid sitting room? The little area I had sectioned off for myself was almost too great a responsibility, and I could walk across that in two steps. The sitting area was at least seventeen.

But now every single surface was immaculate as though not a minute had passed from the first time he ever walked through the door. It was obvious that the kitchen had been used because one of the burner control knobs was off its line and the atmosphere was thick with some sort of ganache scent that wafted about the dimmed recess lighting overhead. Although with the way my eyes were cloning things it seemed like an opera stage rather than a room for simple conversation.

It was as though my eyes were choking on the strong smell of Colombian what ever for they lowered onto the equally as confusing scape of the coffee table which had promoted itself to guard in front of the eight gray chaises. From one item to the next the mystery slowly solved itself. A green swooping neck, which lent itself to a rather chic champagne, then to a delicate dessert of some sort which I could have sworn had employed a nuclear facility to decorate it's top in place of a simple raspberry.

From the striking ruby of the non-existent fruit my throat found itself the victim of a sharp inhale once I laid eyes on the toe of a fabulously elegant Prada oxford. It was as though electric currents had fried every dendrite through out its cortex home for I had only known one person to enjoy wearing shoes so exceptionally beautiful that the immense pain which came from their leather would be worth suffering through. One I never assumed would haunt this miserable residence ever again. He could have been missing his nose and I never would have assumed him to be different. The expanse of his height, that which was free from underneath his suit, was still pale if not more so and his eyes still shown that eerie wondrous blue, which could never fail to rattle my spine, even greater than my father's thundering fists. It was this moment that made seeing double the _greatest_ medical ailment, for he was graced with multiple sets of irises and multiple ways to make my chest implode.


	27. Chapter 22

I do not own any part of the Batman franchise, just simply a fan with some sort of plan c: So Please Enjoy! 3

"Eleanor…I," nothing could have been more exciting than to have Dr. Crane back where I longed for him to be even with his befuddled gaze staring directly at me from all three of his forms, "I'm over _here_." Excitement vanished to deep seeded embarrassment. But they all looked so real as their arms raised to rub the back of their necks in awkward discomfort. "I'm sorry," was all that could be choked out as I turned to the left and settled my sight upon a clone, which reached out and grasped my tense shoulders… turning me to the right.

My face was flaming red as I tried not to make direct eye contact while his icy glare shifted from pupil to pupil behind a miniscule light source that no doubt was supposed to be checking for a petrified state. Just to be so close to him, to have his grasp firmly constricted around my inflamed shoulder was more than too great to handle after falling victim to pining thoughts night after night enclosed under linens which held fast to his scent. "What did you manage this time?" he said under his breath while pulling a cloth from his inner pocket and pressing it firmly to my freely flowing eyebrow. I was ashamed as I caught sight of garnet staining crème but eventually told him everything that had happened, hesitating before including the less than admirable adventure with Jervis only moments earlier.

After each dark detail crossed my lips, burning the skin in their wake, it was immediately apparent that Dr. Crane had been just as clueless and unsuspecting. The expression on his face pulled into one of vacant disbelief and a harsh sadness at the realization that Jervis was not exactly what he had hoped him to be. Although if it was anything more than a seedy back alley wretch I would be able to see where the knife could fit into his back ever so nicely. But I wasn't a career criminal so how could I have possibly known what he was expecting? All I was aware of in that moment was how unadulterated this time between the two of us was becoming as we stood in the middle of the sitting area no more than a handful of centimeters apart.

The sleeve of his jacket collected at the elbow allowing the skin of his pale wrist to shine in the dim light. A single drip of blood jumped for freedom from the kerchief and fled down into the dark abyss, which swallowed the rest of his unseen forearm. Behind its path was easy to trace, if only for a few seconds, before his skin seemed to open and drink in a vampiric sensation as simple speckles joined the drop much like seabirds do from the rock. In that flash of time everything paused. I do not know if it was from the amount of blood loss or from the pure ecstasy raging through my body, fiercely consuming the pain caused by Jervis and turning into a sensation that had never before existed, but without even so much as a second thought my eyelids stitched themselves to one another in violent embrace, the tip of my tongue turning serpentine as it traced the nickel taste of my own blood from the salt-like flavour of his exposed joint.

There was nothing for this act to be compared to within my mind, no previous accident or occasion filed away in the cabinets of my frontal lobes for the tiny men in white coats to sift through and sigh in relief at the supporting evidence which pointed to this behaviour as being in any way normal. It was every subconscious desire that had birthed itself since I watched him pick up shards of that pitiful tea cup what seemed like ages ago, each one breaking through the back of the Surinam toad that was my shattered psyche. The curiosity of the tiny men beating against my cornea became great enough to break through the layer and allow them a good enough grasp to pry apart my right eye lid wide enough to assess the reaction sweeping across Dr. Crane's face as I felt my lips close in over his skin, imitating the many 'relations' scenes I had no choice but to study in my hours of seclusion within his bed. And, though I would never admit it to him, emulating the very thing Jervis had done before. Even though coming from his mouth it was disturbing, there was no way that I could deny it was not in the slightest bit interesting.

It was almost comical when my mind finally snapped back to attention and realized what was happening within the rapidly rearranging expression of the one person I knew was the only one I, whether consciously on unconsciously, would allow myself to behave like such a lunatic with. As soon as our eyes made contact a whole chasm of emotions flooded through from suffering to excitement high enough to match my own. There was no chance of mistaking the feverish pigment filling his face for anything having to do with sickness, nor anything that wasn't equally responsible for the growing warmth pulsating in his veins which throbbed against the texture of my tongue.

Embarrassment was presented as the solution out of this scene by the little white coats and almost had a complete consensus before my heart began to saw a hole through my sternum with a contraption crudely fashioned out of a useless rib. "Judging by this," he whispered as the blood stained article fell onto the lip of the champagne bottle that I didn't expect either of us really wanted, "you might need surgery." My throat swelled as the contact with his wrist was severed and his long fingers vehemently took hold at the nape of my neck bringing us a mere hair apart. In the natural order that was my less than perfect timing the only response I could bring about was definitely nothing compared to the witty comebacks women had in movies. All that happened was the expulsion of something that might have been an actual word if it had been louder than a whispered whisper as the warmth of his breath caused my body to tremble.

Redness staked its claim to my cheeks after the response from Dr. Crane was more of a nervously humoured smirk then any expression I had ever observed before. Without a doubt it was more terrifying than any look my father could ever manage. Standing there I tried to control my own breathing so as to not sound like a freight train, but there was only so much that could be done against the advancement of girlish stupidity.

It was like tabula rasa. If I had been asked there was no way that I would have even remembered my name as he erased the distance between us and forced me to surrender to his advance. It was nothing like the horror of being dominated by his perverse confidant but rather something entirely delectable. The intensity and passionate relief stirring in my head was mirrored in his own through the wonderfully sinister contact of our kiss. Needless to say I had no clue what I was doing as primal instinct led my hands up his chest and around his neck to keep myself from falling backward out of disorientation. Even now I was _still_ the luckiest person in Gotham because there still remained three doctors.

Once I finally assumed there was a control over the situation the sensation of his arm curled about the small of my back gave the last push my heart needed to escape through it's poorly cut trap door. From there it would not have been at all a shock if it crawled up onto the chaise, placed its ventricle against the cool glass scaled with the heavy rain, and simply stared in awe at the strange pairing of a fine suit and a tacky Carroll costume with several tears that made it considerably shorter than what it ought to have been. In fact the idea that I could feel the cold air in the room lace its fingers around my bare legs with animalistic strength only reminded me of exactly what I was wearing and how ridiculous I, no doubt, looked to him. However once his thin fingers traced along my jawline all thoughts about what I was wearing disappeared just as quickly as the thought of taking it off manifested. I felt myself longing for a greater pressure to satisfy this carnal urge consuming my entire body.

Evee would be so proud. The thought of her taking the place of my heart made me smile into the kiss, which sent a signal straight through to Dr. Crane's crazed cortex, causing him to deepen the kiss even further, giving me exactly what I wanted, what I never knew I needed until this very moment. No doubt he had an outside source somehow telling him what to do because I never would have expected such behaviour to come from his usually introverted self. These actions were something that I never would have placed in anyone other then leading men in hopelessly romantic films… which I would also never admit that I liked.

There was no control, and in a split moment my timid character shied away completely, the two of us falling victim to gravity and the ever conveniently placed chaise as I hungered for more of the pain which had scared me so greatly before. Without breaking the kiss his jacket and tie managed to find their own path to the floor as his stiff fingers nervously played at the clasp between my shoulders. It wasn't Dr. Crane's hesitation that birthed a heavy feeling of discomfort, but it seemed as though somewhere there was a telescope in place… which can never lead to any good.

Indeed another member was present besides that of my hypothetical audience of one. Looking down at my chest there was no gaping hole, no morbid wound that would have given a sense of relief. The sounds of none other than my father's second favourite musician, Marvin Gaye, swarmed like disgusting flies about my ears as I stood, still tied to Dr. Crane's newly tensed height, as we both glanced over with upset eyes to a very smug, mischievously smirking Lucas with his hand clasped about the lighting control on the violated gray wall. "I knew it!" he exclaimed as his knotted index finger quickly shifted from myself to my companion, both of us horribly flushed from being caught red handed by my guardian… who should have been either tending to my father's high blood pressure or hiding in his bureau encased within his reinforced closet.

"I knew that there was something going on between the two of you!" The man's enthusiasm wasn't shared between the three of us as I expected him to do some sort of victory dance with this new discovery slathering his lips like petroleum. If only a petrol-based liquid would seep past those horribly cracked lips and down into that annoying throat of his the entire scene would have been complete. I watched through narrow slits the look of glee on Lucas' face as Dr. Crane folded to retrieve his jacket and tie in one elegantly raged motion. "It's nice to see that you've found a way to make her useful Doctor," Lucas spit under the disemboweling stare directed straight through him, "now that you're back, darkening the doorways, at least some_one_ will get done."

My entire body felt as though it would shatter if a feather collided with me. Obviously the man had been spending the past few moments with a few highly flammable friends who had persuaded him to march through the lions and straight into the den, so to speak, hiccupping ever so slightly. I didn't want to look up into his face but I couldn't help it, it was like the night inside his car except in an amount tenfold. His tie slowly curled around the folded jacket while he continued to take in every word spilling from Lucas' mouth like a crude faucet, until the satchel found itself within my hands and his voice spoke so lightly I almost didn't believe it to be real, a ghostly order to go down the hall followed by a reassurance that he wouldn't be long.

I should have been worried about Lucas getting the bright idea to blow the secret, but with Dr. Crane's jacket curled in my serpentine arms, still warm, I could only play victim to the fierce return of wanting to be out of this horrid dress and under the most sultry of pressures.

(switching narrative)

Lucas. The infernal louse was just as I expected him to be in every sense of the words used to describe him within the cavernous adjectives contained by the numerous volumes of my head. It was most pleasant however that he did not think to scream on his way out. Just the thought of his rotating plate eyes fueled by the noxious fumes created ever the slightest smirk upon my lips as I made my way down the hall, fiddling with the button at my collar, and into the room which I had missed so greatly.

It was definitely not in the same specifications as I had left it in. Instead of the left side of the bed being turned down it was the right, and if I didn't know any better it would seem the poor place had fallen victim to one of the most severe onslaughts of bleaching I had witnessed in quite a while. The air was thick with a hospital feeling, every surface and fiber sterile except for a disastrous garment carelessly tossed on the chair, which maliciously winked in favour of the bathroom door left slightly ajar. One last glance to the hateful dress and it became clear why an inanimate object would find such pleasure in speaking. The thing looked as though it had been used and used again as a nineteenth century field doctor's make shift tourniquet, torn and abused with stains.

My fingers refused to let go of their button as, against the proper direction of a controlled conscious order, my feet took me straight for the door and simply pushed it aside as if there was no notion of never doing anything of the sort before.

When the door stood aside my stomach fell through in a mock disappointment for there was no one in sight. With the false sense of bravado that had manifested itself to act as an overzealous shove into the room I suppose I was half expecting a certain degree of nudity, just as any lawless instinctually guided lush would. The bath was full with fragrant suds, stained a foreign crimson, which had no correlation to eucalyptus. Other than the randomly popping bubbles everything else seemed hardly introduced to any category of touch at all. I had almost thought to turn and look elsewhere when a sharp gasp for air shocked me round and froze my swaying height.

Her long thin fingers ran in an arch across her temples to push back her soaked short hair and stopped short just above the nape as she turned about to gaze up at me through the openings created by her entangled arms. The water ran down in orderly rows, as I would have expected, down her bone –ridged chest in a no-holds-bar race to join its fellow molecules below which shielded that which shied from view.

That was when my sight started to seize. Side to side at a frantically embarrassed rate for there was nothing across her except for the modest covering of romantically foreign bath salt suds that could die down in any fraction of time. Genetically speaking it should have been a moment of great excitement but instead it was only a cattle prod to my antisocial tendencies manifesting and injecting themselves within the soft tissue of the metaphorical superego, impairing any natural thought and any accompanying appropriate course of action. It seemed that the thought of embarrassment had failed to cross her mind in the slightest for she simply mounted her folded elbows over the side of the claw-footed bath to create a roost for her abraded chin.

"Are you… alright?" some other being questioned through my puppet-like form causing her cerulean eyes to open once more and meet with mine as if we were parted by a vague glass enclosure. The pinked water dripped from her extended features to form a new colony on the tiled floor while we were placed in silence. "Of course Dr. Crane," she spoke, while no doubt counting how many times the small colony welcomed a new member to their liquid utopia, "although the water does absolutely nothing for any sort of congealment. Just a daft idea from beginning to end I suppose." She hesitated before saying under tone that any good scientist would have known that without doubt.

I had begun to count seconds by way of water droplets. It was easier to attribute time to something tangible rather than to the rhythm of various Dixieland jazz which seemed to be magically put to the scene by my failing logic. Apparently southern banjo partnered naturally with misguided behaviour directed by southern regions. The thought that even momentarily I could allow Id to dominate my skull with carnal intuitions was saddening, but it was nothing in comparison to the uncomfortable stomach twist brought about by the breech of flesh below the sheet of soap. The salmon torrents ran burgundy with a new letting as her elbows slid over the edge of the bath, submerging her unconscious head within the vicious grasp of the water, grinning proudly as I remained frozen a stride away. The musical composition of oxygen escaping through the fading suds provided white noise as I found myself unable to consider anything more than whether or not being pummeled to near death was included on the list of common household accidents, because drowning in the bath seemed all too assumed.

Suddenly the silence besieged back into the room as Eleanor's exhaling ceased from beneath the now mudded crimson and Id returned to its previous captive, filling my mind with something I thought I knew so well. Fear. It overrode any sense that might have objected and melted the shackles about my ankles, leading me to the uncharacteristically brash action of jumping into the less than desirable water to bring her limp body back to animation. Never had I considered how near impossible logical medical reasoning was to acquire under the stress of sheer panic. The fact that her entire upper body was revealed to my sight wasn't even a second thought as my mind flashed a marquee repeating blank, as I had no clue what to do. Breathing was simple, a monkey could do it, but as my hand pressed in the center of her shining, tinted chest embarrassment seeped in and turned my face aside with tightly shut eyes, as if I had spoiled a surprise. Even though I was well aware that I was simply behaving in a gentleman-like manner. After all taking advantage of an unconscious woman is only a mere rung above necrophilia, of which I was surely positive had not developed as of late. Well, so far as I was aware of anyhow.

Relief. The only thing more mysterious than feeling fear was next in line of the sea of strange emotions that flooded through my mind as Eleanor's rail body turned aside and heaved water out onto the floor, ruining the small simplicity of the previous puddle. Her shoulder blades stood high above the rest of her expanse, creating a sort of U deeply scarred and opened here and there by outrageous slivers of cherry-wood tea tray. It was certainly an interesting mess I had gotten myself into, but watching the end of my sleeve flow about in the slight waves of red was somehow utterly fabulous.

The hypnotic hold a soaked shirt had on me was shattered when Eleanor turned over her less inflamed shoulder and lead her worried gaze up from the surface upwards, pushing her saturated hair out from her eyes. "Forgive me," she said to a mystified psychiatrist whose covered legs tangled with her bare ones. The question couldn't be restrained for in the last course of events my thought pattern was as sporadic as a schizophrenic. "For what?" The words pushed through in a much sharper tone than I had intended, but it seemed that was what she was expecting to retaliate towards her battered body. "For everything. I have managed to embarrass you, enrage you, and ruin your suit all in a matter of a single evening," it was borderline unbelievable, but then again in her mind she was at the bottom of the list. And in that one moment of looking, somewhat guilty, upon her surgical nightmare of a condition I longed for nothing more than to simply lean forward and reclaim the kiss, which that insolent pest, Lucas, had ruined beforehand.

The bath water streamed from the ends of her hair, collecting a new portion of blood as it passed over her brow. One thing became apparent however, the red colour diluted as it ran over the eye below and instantly it was as if a pull cord had been sewn into my spine and was being pulled taut mercilessly. Even if it wasn't anywhere near sobbing being forced to watch her cry, even in the slightest percentage, bored out my forehead with a cufflink. Hesitation dissipated as I forgot myself, "Please," my mind drew a blank as I delved under the surface and took off my shoes, tossing them down into the colonial puddle over the edge, "it's really no trouble." She smiled, and the pull cord at my back was released, the taut tension sending a ring forcefully into my shoulder, forcing my awkwardly pink tinted hand to collect over hers in a most unexpected reflex that left my mind in a seemingly terminal loss for words.

I wondered if I could potentially blame the ever advancing colour in my face on the stain of the water but no matter how I went about explaining it would have sounded aloof, not to mention rather insane. When her paling face suggested we get out it was as though the idea was written down on a cue card, for I assumed there wasn't hope for a single complete thought between the two of us. Not to be rude I got out first, although I am sure as a lady she wouldn't have objected, being without a single article of clothing as she was, and held aloft a towel which I had no idea as to how it materialized into reality, let alone my grasp. But as she twisted into the soft fabric and took the ends within her own hold I found that I was quickly falling victim to Id yet again and wishing that I hadn't stumbled upon such a foul evil as was this that hid her from me. All I could do was retreat backward into the room and turn face at the oriental styled closet doors to opt for clothing less prone to attract pneumonia. Opening the doors was like coming home as I simply picked out a sweater and pants, that didn't necessarily match in proper light, and waited to see what would happen in the next few moments while subtly entertaining myself by realigning the toes of every single pair of shoes on the floor under their corresponding suits.

I was surprised when Eleanor joined me still in just a towel that was beginning to resemble that hateful piece of whatever it was that she had been wearing beforehand, even though I was well aware there were no clothes in there with us. Rested atop her flattened hands was a modest silver tray with a fair assortment of needles, scissors, and a slowly burning container of Sterno shooting blue flame upwards to light her face ever so slightly against the toned down recess rays that fell from above. I had already started to fold up my sleeve when she asked if I would help her as I had before, even though we both knew that there were scars to prove my lack of skill. My eyes fell upon the temple which I had already so wondrously marred as she sat the tray beside my vacant height and stood before me awaiting my response with wringing hands holding the sides of her now spotted cover.

I ran my fingers over the shining metal instruments and quickly glanced downward out of the corner of my eye to catch sight of her feet telling tale of her anxiety even if her face did not. "Sit down," I said whilst surrendering a needle to the lackadaisical flame and feeling the vibration of her sudden introduction to the surface. As I brought one hand to relinquish her hair from the location on her forehead my eye caught hers again and suddenly all I could think of was accidentally plunging this searing point right through her cornea. Everything suddenly returned for a full forced crusading panic attack, which morphed her bare form into one soiled with black mud outside that ridiculous nightclub. Guilt rushed through me at the knowledge that she harboured no ill feeling towards me, even after I had treated her so poorly. It was new to not be loathed, and frankly quite hard to register as her face became warm and her glance averted to her hands, which curled into each other like modern art. "I'll try to do better this time," I exhaled, raising the glowing white point to meet with my other hand's hold above her brow. The foul scent of searing flesh was made all the more pleasant by the fact that I was in charge of her again, and as I moved from her forehead to her shoulder, removing a smart piece of wood and pressing an available demulcent upon the incision, I had apparently allowed myself to be open to one final onslaught of new feeling. This level of trust she had for me was nothing short of remarkable. It lead me to a crossroads of confusion. Should I have been furious, as I without a doubt was, that Lucas was appalling and ruined something new, or should I have been somewhat pleased that he acted as he did and unknowingly place the two of us in this predicament?

With that I took hold a new needle as she surrendered enough to reveal her battlefield of a back. It must have been wrong, but in the grander scheme of repairing her wounds with my less than admirable skill set, the convulsions sent through her body by burning nerves were the most enchanting motions I had the ability to recall.

After the last sliver of glass joined a remarkably sized collection down on the silver tray I stopped to consider the severity, for tempered glass was not supposed to break like this. None of the edges fit together, and the fact that a shard found a new home within the cells of a wood piece in an entirely new item was something else entirely. All in all it was quite an adventure to try and imagine what crude sight these pieces had been beforehand, whether a useless window or not. I found myself lost in the dreamlike translation of pocked wells on the surface of the miniscule tree bit, tracing them by sight and some how feeling them underneath my fingertips as they pulled ever closer back to their linen pocketed holster. How bizarre it was that an observation could seem so life-like and in such a grander size than the crosshairs they truthfully were, going from smooth to soft?

It was then reality returned to round up my head in a long hook and so kindly aid me in turning downward to realize that, why yes, no wonder it was smooth. My head swooned with lightheadedness as I drank in the expanse of her newly scarred and sewn spine. There was no doubt that knots and style weren't a course of curriculum for psychiatry, for there was no question that a simple nurse could have done a much cleaner job than my quaking digits could have hoped for. A crosshatched mess of reddened inflamed skin tangled with string, which started out surgical and ended up in the grasp of a fisherman. Oddly enough seeing as how I was terribly disgusted by scaled sea pests. How I managed a grotesque fisherman's not with nearly invisible thread I'll never truly know. All that was clear was the undeniable fact that Eleanor was most likely in a greater amount of pain from twisting incisions than she was letting on, only further supporting my idea that she had such a high trust for me – one I did not necessarily think I deserved.

With sleeves returned to their respected ends my feet found contact with the floor undesirable. The cold silver of the soiled tray snagged my palms as the still lazily burning Sterno teetered dangerously upon the slightly lubricated edge. I wondered how in any way it could have been possible for her to find any sort of sleep or if she was simply biting her tongue to save my ego. Whatever the cause of her silence it was not 3 steps towards the hallway when the rustling from changing to a prone position caught my attention so fiercely that it was by sheer luck the entire tray didn't plummet towards the polished floor, engulfing the residence in a stunningly blue inferno.

"Wait," she said, almost too softly if I hadn't already quickly evolved a range for it. Her eyes were pleading below the newest addition to my collection of scars. Atop the sea of white linen her body was snow melting at the thoughts of abandonment that were no doubt corralling within that brutalized brain. Pressing my shoulder against the forgiving doorframe I wondered if she had completely forgotten that she was at a loss for clothes. "Don't leave," her thin fingers castrated the edge of the duvet as I stole a simple glance to the morose chair beside the rolling tide of white. Arms crossed over the loose V cascading downward from my trachea, the chair and I were locked in combat. "I'm not sure another night at the mercy of such engineering would be as forgiving as the first." I watched as the arms of the chair winked in Eleanor's direction to meet with her quizzical vacancy. The knots at my elbows feel through at the sight at her simple smile. All I could do was watch as she slid backward and her legs disappeared beneath the bleached waves. "Well I," rapidly her right hand found a certain insecurity as she bit down upon her bottom lip, "What I meant was that… I was h-hoping you might find it favourable to stay _here_."

I had been struck by a mound of bricks into a chasm of unrelenting black.

The corner opposite her folded over whimsically and begged for me to dive into the scene headfirst, for there was nothing more intriguingly forbidden than what lay beneath what could be seen. Slowly, ever slowly, my height leaned forward, serving as the guide for my newly blinded consciousness. It was frighteningly different to sit on the edge of this unnecessarily oversized furnishing and know that behind me was the nude form of the woman I had wondered about during all of those evenings when only myself occupied this open encasement. It was a fifties drama. I knew she was watching my shoulders stretch ever upward as my burning face found shelter in the bowl of my hands, which rested on my awkwardly bent legs dangling over the side. My nerves erupted, knowing she wasn't just a figment, played up begrudgingly by my possessive niche, was enough to fill my lungs with sawdust.

The pressure of her hand upon my less than charming poise sent me into a confused panic, seizing hold of her stick-like wrist while keeping my face within the confines of the opposite rest. I should have been terribly embarrassed at such rude behaviour but instead it was as if the moment was captured in a photograph. Her hesitation drummed through my ears as she tried so hard to procure a response. "I did not mean to upset you," her index finger fidgeted within its hold, "I…please I-I just don't want you to disappear again." My subconscious relinquished its vice-like hold upon her and as her shaken appendage returned to its rightful place the contact from her understated fingertips nudged me upright. There was nothing I could say that wouldn't have sounded completely and utterly cliché so instead my glasses reintroduced themselves to their former place aboard the hideous side table and I finally fell into comfort. Having her oceanic eyes watch me from above, outlined by the recess lighting, boasted nothing short of subtle begging for anything to sprout from my mouth like garden vines. All my body screamed for me to do was take hold of the side of her face, the unhindered one of course, and bring her down to level so that we might be able to pick up where we left off, but instead all that happened was the dry heaving of cinematic jokes. "I promise," her face shown brighter, "I'll be here when you wake up."


	28. Chapter 23

I do not own any part of the Batman franchise, just simply a fan with some sort of plan c: So Please Enjoy! 3

When morning dawned through the wall of glass, scaled with the ever-present humour of endless rain, it was as if I had never fallen asleep at all. The diseased cloud cover that sheltered the city from the omnipresent white of the sun far above had seemingly engorged itself on the night's open bar of petty crime and grown several layers thicker in a mere few hours. It would not have been at all surprising if news had broken that the center star had all together succumb to super nova, for in this nauseating metropolis life holds so fast to sin the sun turns its face from shame and condemns all citizens to the hatred of cumulonimbus stalagmites.

Gotham City remains its own paranormal dimension.

Gazing about the room proved difficult but I didn't need light to remember instantly where I was and what I had taken part in the evening before. It was like a silent film. Everything was being played back through the view of my own eyes; drowning, bleeding, burning, and finally ending within the soft grasp of pure white, myself drowning in silent ecstasy as foreign warmth invaded my pale skin and reawakened the dormancy that was my stale heart. It was as though I was the only item that boasted a difference in the entire scape of décor. The expanse of the bed was still as overly grand as ever and, indeed, the lapis lazuli night tables had not regained any of their former non-existent beauty. Looking out through the reptilian windows my height was beckoned to come closer and examine just what I already knew so well. The skyline of towers beyond the shag of ramshackle tin dens and brownstone abominations soared ever upwards as picket fencing from the asphalt paths, a wall of trophies symbolizing the power of deception and the rewards this city betroths to those who come fast and with their diseased oration in toll. It was a taste of amnesty to be sheltered within the only still standing fortress of industry left in this part of town, but simply being a multi million dollar corporation was not enough to rid the building of the constant air of depression which seeped in through the air ducts and out from the laboratory holdings as it tried diligently to scale the stories and take hold of the man at the top, much like King Kong would, seizing hold of Andrew Ryan in drag and mercilessly shaking him about in the dwindling oxygen.

Down below, almost removed from sight, the olive green smog, which caused the Ryan building to sprout from a nightmarish cloud, became slightly more orange with the early morning belch of sulfur bacterium from the open sewer capillaries. It was one of the only ways to keep track of the hour in a place where clocks had been taken apart decades ago to try and create make shift stove tops for the denizens to cook their mangy rodents upon. Manic-depressive nature was common here but high above the ground it was as though I was removed from the mania; protected, not from the reinforced steel but by a simple woman who was still behind me sans clothes.

Nervousness took hold as my brain went wild spinning about within its casing and turning my non cooperative skeleton round with its centrifugal force. It was my greatest worry to happen upon a sight I was not meant to see and be accused of actually setting out the less than gentlemanly tasks already raging within my thoughts, a proverbial lay-over from last night. I hoped that when she awoke there would be no need for continued awkward tendencies but there was no sure guarantee that she would even recall her actions, or if they had even _really_ taken place at all. Vivid details and line-by-line recollection of conversation never proved that anything had actually taken place. It just simply acted as a grotesque child's plaything, wildly dispensing comfort as a back alley dealer distributes tampered lysergic acid; unbeknown to the user that the foul high soon falls through.

A few paces along the chilled wooden expanse was a swift reminder that I had no idea what to expect once I retrieved my glasses from the side table and judged the scene for what I assumed it to be, it was entirely possible that Eleanor had not stayed with me at all, that out of extreme loss and pining desire she was simply a fantastical figment. Naturally… I hoped that was just a bit of nonsense dreamt up by fleeting abandonment.

The calm sea of linen, which had serenely covered the oversized bed, looked as though a cyclone had passed through, for everything was waved with high folds and twisted inward at the center beside a small inhaling escalation. Absent of command from my blank slate the tips of my fingers slightly grazed over the arm of my glasses atop the gorgon-like side table and centered them over my rapidly blinking eyes. Disbelief mounted my back like a small bratty child and weighed my height down prone, forcing my nervous hand to uncover what I did not wholly believe to be there in reality; that I myself was not essentially part of this all too unfamiliar set.

I could see myself acting out the scene for it was as though I was not completely apart of my own characteristics. There was no possible way I would be so foolish as to willingly fall victim to my own mind's playful entanglement of the eye's ability to perceive. After all I was not a lunatic, just… rather bewildered at what I had set up for myself. At least with myself fully clothed there was no question about certain actions but as my hand took hold of the edge of this stormed duvet I had no clear thought as to what the next move could possibly be. It became a feverish consultation with the audience of myself as to what I was even doing in the bleak light that found itself able to penetrate the fortressing cloud cover. Except there was never an answer. Irritatingly enough there wasn't the possibility of a straight answer. Despair had wriggled inward through my ear canals and seeded itself deep within my temporal lobes, hatching its eggs and claiming my head for its own personal palace. It was new to be so doubtful but I could not deny a swift lash of anxiety at the thought that I was indeed all alone except for a mere bout of wild whimsy.

As my mind tried relentlessly to escape from behind my eyes, a warning from a ghostly imagination, observing me from the desolate chair, halted attention. It had switched seats to gain a better view of what it… I could feel approaching. "Watch out," was all that was said before the spectre vaporized into the streaming rain pelting the window and down the side into the doldrums, which barked hungrily below. It was with a slight ruffle of linen that my expression was seized and twisted back away from the melting glass, straight into the gaping mouth of a white beast that swallowed me back into darkness. That was it. I had to be asleep still, dreaming up the sallow glow that shown timidly through the woven threads and ever so slightly illuminated the claustrophobic surroundings of cascading folds from within the duvet. In a panic I remained still trying to gage the penitentiary of soft fabric for a way out, but to no avail. It was as though I was within a giant chrysalis, wrapped tightly in every direction with only a miniscule opening for air. An opening! A welcome sight to escape was all I could think of until a slight weight fell upon my stomach. The drifting scent of eucalyptus shut down every joint and cemented each synapse. If, indeed, this was a dream it had just become significantly greater.

"E-Eleanor?" All that could sprout from behind bars of teeth was a quickly hesitant question answered even sharper with a thin hand, which scaled the ladder of my ribs and settled a plot just lower than its cranial counterpart. It was as though I needed the veil of despair and abandonment to shield my nerves from the searing pain that accumulated beneath her weight, unease that was not prevalent previously. Try as I may there was no ceasing in sight for the slowed production of carbon dioxide. Perhaps subconsciously there was a thought that rapid shallow breathing would persuade her to remove her ear from its close embrace with my raw sternum, but to no avail.

"You," she spoke with air that slowly heated with unease, "You're heart beats irregularly." In truth she had no idea how obvious her comment rang as it reverberated off the linen and rounded up within my ears. I felt badly but it was nothing like that which followed when she said she could fix it and gingerly lifted my shirt just enough for her left index finger to pierce itself at the apex of my naval. The excruciating details I wouldn't share with my own thoughts but upon flipping her underneath my pinning height two sharp realizations prodded my forehead much like syringes. Even though I had already seen her form before, in my miniscule immaturity, I felt a bit guilty for being able to take it in again without a dire reason. The skin taught over her rather pronounced cage begged a great similarity to the pure lack of pigment, which I knew encased the two of us beyond dim light. There was no reason to deny the attraction of monotonous colour for the only words that raced across my eyesight were the components of a sentence most cliché, although in truth it was all that I really wanted to say, to watch her blush and glance away smiling.

Having Eleanor beneath my still silently quaking self only reminded me of two things: one being how much I loathed Lucas for interrupting before the events of last night could achieve this setting and the other being a tasteless conversation I once had with Jervis over a cup of rather unamusing tea. Although a bit difficult to recall, seeing as how I had tried so hard to forget it, I could still vaguely remember his coarse uncut nails raking through his young companion's blonde curls as she sat beside him pseudo-happily grinning in a most repulsive way which was unquestionable evidence of her habitual vomiting and ingestion of Vibrio cholerae. With a cup perched ever precariously between the very tips of my untrusting fingers he tousled his golden arousal and pulled it playfully, entrusting to me with such bravado his trade secret. "You see, the undeniable fact that they aren't the least bit intelligent makes getting them to remove their clothes elementary. The real challenge is to persuade them into wanting it, otherwise its just annoyingly difficult and only sporting fun the _first_ few times," he took hold of his ailing companions sunken face and dragged his brassy thumb down her cheek, "All you have to do is make them blush and they'll become unbelievably pliable and a more enticing place to wet your excitement."

Still, even after years the visual was as unwelcomingly prevalent as it had been when my eyes first recorded it, and having to thwart nauseating images of myself in his place with a choleric Eleanor on a leash beside my prone lounging repeatedly stabbed any thoughts of arousal that had previously conjured a fortress within my… head.

After coming to realization of the fact that I had just escaped into my own thoughts for who knows how long above my own patiently waiting companion I slowly brought my own sight down to meet with hers, a nonphysical contact, which caused her expression to fold into a nervous smile. No doubt it was endearing, but what I really longed to know is what she had to be so afraid of. Surely apart from the somewhat_ large_ detail of exposure I had more of a reason to be nervous? Watching her chest scale upward and down again as she breathed life into her laying form was hypnotizing and was as though with the aid of my animalistic hindbrain the two broke through a concrete arm and trailed my unresponsive hand from her collar, down between her breasts and off to the side where I found rest at her protruding hip. How I wanted to get into her mind and know what she was thinking right then; but it seemed telepathy was unnecessary for with one hand supporting my own weight and the other trapped at her side the opportunity was left open for her soft touch to hook a stretched finger about the base of the V, which clung about my neck, terrified of being separated from its host, and bring her upward ever closer to a space of exposed skin covering my now severely racing heart rate.

Interestingly enough the difference between observing intimacy and being apart of it is incredibly large and dwarfed my every available reaction, only to allow my sternum to vibrate against the contact of her small kiss. Bittersweet ecstasy ran through my veins and mounted within my abdomen, trying to break free from its skeletal prison through the windows in between ribs. There was no denying that this is exactly where I had expected the two of us to be only hours ago, before that parasitic lush made his less than admirable existence known, but I suppose the fact that it did not happen then the idea was embedded in my mind that it would, in fact, never happen at all. _Thus_ this less than desirable situation of being caught embarrassingly off guard on top of my companion, who I really would have enjoyed to be on top of in any other situation, created the reaction opposite of arousal. Sadly. Devastatingly. … Annoyingly.

I wanted so badly to let her continue but the thought that allowing her to be so open with my metaphorically dead self only made me think of being swallowed down a dark esophagus ending in a perverted pond of pseudo necrophilia and gnawing bile. I was thoroughly convinced dead bodies still held no sexual attraction…_still_ very much convinced that was a special award reserved for victims of mania, not myself.

"Eleanor," my hand quietly slithering up to her chin, "you should get dressed." Naturally I could have stabbed myself for that daring bout of anxious word vomit, and as her expression erupted with piteous apology I wished for any plans, A…B…Q it didn't matter, to sprout from my ripped Limbic system and tell me how to fix this horribly wrenching moment. Painfully, she bore into the center of my eyes with a devastated stare then smiled as if nothing had happened at all. A charming smile no doubt, but one I could not wholly believe and as I was spat out from the twisted linen into the more comforting surroundings of the bathroom the rustle of her height springing to life and traveling by caused my irregular heart rate to irregularly stop.

Running into the pedestal sink a few paces in front my groping hand finally found the illumination and introduced me to myself. Still I had my distressing eyes, all the more so given the great stress. My reflection, which stared right back at my chest, folded its arms in accusation and smirked wickedly. "My my," it spat back from beyond its glass enclosure, "are you _scared_?" Indeed, I would have placed my actions at anxious more so than frightened but I guess, ironically enough, I could scare even_ myself_ out of my mind. Rubbing my eyelids in disbelief the reflection continued to mock me with glares, reaching down to grab hold of the V at my collar, much as Eleanor had, its transparent finger jolting downward to reveal a ruby red lipstick stain not mirrored on my own skin. Within the confines of the embossed view my reflection seemed to tease me for not seeing this mark, which he wore with such a smug confidence, going so far as to exhale on its glass and spell out 'IDIOT… LOOK HARDER' with an excruciatingly slow pace and violent underlining. If it was so vibrant within this vision than why was it that I could not hope to see it myself? Granted she didn't wear such a loud shade, or any lipstick at all, but surely it was more metaphorical than that, something I just couldn't understand right off as clear as it was to my subconscious. "My god," it spoke again as it found comfort leaning against the stressed borders of its casing, "what would you do without me?" It was almost like throwing a glove down in challenge as I watched this vile smirking individual reach out of sight and return with my all too familiar mask. "Stop acting like you didn't want it," the reflection spoke while moving the mouth of my mask much like a puppeteer, "you loved the control of being on top, the thrill that you could make her your own, _own her_ and take hold of everything she has to offer _you_."

With ears perked like a puppy I continued to listen to this figment spout out ridiculous claims of self-importance all the while still trying to find this bright red stain that I still couldn't see, underneath the searing gaze of displeased eyes. "I can't believe I'm stuck with you," it said with a rolled stare, "Listen… stop acting like a sniveling school boy and admit that you liked it, that you want _more_ of it, a lot more," both of our gazes fell to my own depressingly blank and red-less skin. My stomach used a crass ice pick to soar up through my esophagus and out revealing itself to be a bubbling yellow acid that sat, lounging, within the white of the basin. Much to the chagrin of my reflection I simply kept my head hung out of view as this stinging bitter yellow filled every space under my tongue and between my teeth, decaying the gum line all the while. "Unbelievable," my reflection sighed in pity as I watched the shadow of its arm reach out and seize hold of my inflamed throat, "I have to save you _every_ time."

A resounding shove tossed me backward against the colorless tiles of the shower and back into the reality of the scene at hand. There I was sitting on the floor with Gotham City's greater water supply streaming out of the corner of my mouth and soaking my clothes all the way through to my chilled skin. "He was right," I whispered aloud bringing my knees up to rest underneath my folded arms. I didn't understand why I denied myself what I wanted most in that moment. Never before had I encountered a personal gesture with such emotion behind it. The fact was beyond me that she felt so strongly for who I was beyond what this City had named me and my life had made me. Releasing the strain in my joints my head fell back against the subzero granite and my feet stretched out beyond the drain where the water swirled centripetally, trying its hardest to hypnotize me into impolite behaviour. I wasn't sure as to what the next move would be, but later on I was supposed to meet Jack at the Penguin's less than savoury establishment for a drink. What to wear wasn't up for discussion, the accessory however most certainly was. And as I sat there, depressed in dark wet cloth, all I wanted was for Eleanor to open the door and come join me down in this mausoleum, talking about being sorry and nude upon me once again.

She did not.

The late night journey to the sadistically shivering establishment was not as bad as I expected it would be, although I would have preferred it if Lucas had driven us so I could have concentrated on my companion rather than the disdainful roads flooded with anti-freeze and umbrellas. It was befitting for a club so distasteful to be housed in one of the slurb parts of town, but to tell the proprietor that would only result in a merciless tongue lashing of annoyingly apocalyptic means, of which no one really paid any mind to. More so I'm sure it was only meant to inconvenience. It was a quiet ride, but far from somber, as though Eleanor had completely forgotten the details of early morning and kept me within a higher esteem than ever. Out of the corner of my eye I could see her legs cross lazily beneath her dress fashioned from merlot lace, her sight steadfastly fixated upon the blurred images beyond the window. There wasn't much that could be done with her short espresso hair but once we set foot across the threshold into the garage she swiftly pushed the left side back behind a flowering crystal barrette I never knew she had, let alone where she had sheathed it during the ride down in the lift. Of course I never knew when she would surprise me with some other characteristic cleverly hidden beneath her waif appearance; it was always best to just pretend to be expecting every one.

"I can't imagine this lasting too terribly long," I said aloud more to myself than to her whilst _Libiam ne' lieti calici_ set us in the proper frame for what was to take place, "seeing as how I'm quite positive neither of us would care for a repeat of the last venture." Inside my stomach twisted at the memory but at the same time laughed and how pathetic the two of us must have looked with my being bright red and her intoxicated self sprawled over my lap. Although I had said we shouldn't have a repeat performance I won't lie when I say a part of me was, in all truth, considering it as her legs untied themselves and her face rested gingerly on her curled fingers. How I simply wanted to violently turn the car and place the two of us elsewhere when I caught sight of her amused eyes accessing my selection in wear. "Is something wrong?" Sudden apology reflected back towards the steering column as a small voice pleaded forgiveness. "Of course not," she blurted out nervously, "y-you look very handsome."

My hold on the wheel adopted an even paler tone for I did not wholly believe that what I heard was truly what had sprung from her mouth. It was so unlike her, yet the opaque crimson arising in her cheek was evidence in support that, indeed, what I heard was what she had thought. Keeping my eyes fixed upon the endangered neon entrance vastly approaching ahead of us I could not hope to hide the boyish happiness, which swung back and forth upon my liver in utter ecstasy. How I loathed the designer of her well-tailored lace, for it hid that which I longed to have sooner rather than later. And as rain droplets enlarged the polar cotton glove stretching out to grasp hold of the European handle I had no hope to contain myself any longer. "Is there anything you would like to do after this?" Her expression was one of surprise at my sudden outburst of questioning but it was easy to see she was honestly excited as her height awaited my exit on the other side of the car.

Pain always struck whenever valets forced themselves into the mouth of my poor BMW and struggled with the fact that everything was exactly the same as an American car just reversed to be superior. The exterior was pristine but with the day-glow colours of the lurid Iceberg sign above it felt as though I needed to send Lucas to clean it _yet _again.

On edge, all too suddenly, after a nightmarish ordeal with the palette of the car I had absolutely no feelings but rage at the sight of a slimy patron trying to convince Eleanor to accompany him inside to the bar. Her body said everything this aggravating lush didn't understand as I stepped lively up the curb and buttoned my stark black Boss. Through widened eyes she followed my meaningful height and winced at the sharp removal of her bejeweled accessory. "Would you like to have dinner with me?" I asked with my attention anxiously awaiting her answer, of which I was most confident I already knew. Her tightly laced arms relaxed in front of her, collected together in clutched hands below her chin reflecting her politely subdued happiness. With her beaming smile nothing else mattered. The persistent whining of the man behind me simply buzzed about, no more audible than the hum of the surging neon, and only became noticeable when his gaudy cufflink poked around and seized a hold of Eleanor by her flaccid wrist, stretching her snowdrift skin foreword with her resistance. "I promise," I whispered while prying the diseased fist from her, "no orchid throwing this time."

She inhaled sharply in gasp as I pulled the intoxicated annoyance's arm forward, turning about, and thrusting Eleanor's fashionable hairpin deep into the meaningless drunk's now punctured trachea. The most enjoyable part was not the slow toiling death of this hateful male but the beloved lack of surprise, borderline relief, shared by every valet and host under the Penguin's employment. With the cause of the scene now being dragged down a nearby alley, courtesy of two large menservants bestowed in coat tails, I held my arm aloft. Waiting all of 2 seconds for Eleanor to stop smiling and slip her long fingers about my humerus a host quickly approached us with mandatory waddled steps. "We're most pleased to see you again Dr. Crane," he spurted through lips tightly shut below a soaring nose, "I would compliment your lady friend's lovely dress if not for _great _fear of my impending doom."

I found the liberty to laugh ever so slightly at the man's quick wit. It reminded me of Nigma, whether that be good or bad, and as he put out his gloved fin towards the entrance the small weight of Eleanor's head fell against my sharp shoulder. "I would love to join you for dinner Dr. Crane," she said lightly while nuzzling as close as physics would permit. It was the remark about what, if anything, I had in mind for post dining that put anxious desire back into the forefront of my thoughts and made me curse the obsession with mannerisms housed inside my being that forced the two of us inside.


End file.
